dug 
Just wanted to extend some sympathy to Tom, who has been burglared. It happened to me in New York and I know exactly what you mean about the camera, Tom.
It’s one thing being violated. You can still feel the presence of the other person in the building. It’s quite another experiencing what that stumbling, brutal act does to the peaceful network of emotional connections that live, unnoticed in our homes. Tom, you can’t have your thirtieth birthday back, but hopefully, you still have many of your friends.
As I write this I am reminded of another emotion I hadn’t felt since the day I walked out of my house to find my bike had vanished. On that occasion, I stood there for a few minutes, pitifully staring at the empty spot of road where baby had been parked (my black, 1981, z1000J2) and Lenny Henry walked past carrying flowers and followed by two little girls in pretty dresses, he was off to a friend’s wedding at the church at the end of Brook Green. Our eyes met and I think he understood what had happened to me…
…but I was describing the emotion—it’s like having your stomach removed in many small sequential operations. I had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of a loud bang in the basement. I was sleeping in a room on the top floor of the Upper West Side brownstone and cursed my flat mates. The next morning I went downstairs and didn’t notice any of my stuff had gone. It took a good 45 minutes before I completely realised what had happened.
All my worldly possessions were packed up ready for my move home and some shit had hacked through all the bags and boxes searching for valuables, leaving the odd pile of stuff here and there on the ground floor (it was a big brownstone). I hope I never have to go through that series of negative revelations again:-(
It sounds like Tom has some things to help with his recovery—The Met have actually fingerprinted his flat and it looks like he might have been able to ID the chap who came through the window.
Tom, I hope they nail the bastard.