(no subject)
I live in a South Eastern suburb in Sydney called Kingsford, somewhere between the airport and Moore Park and very close to UNSW.
Kingsford is a great place to live, location-wise. We're close to shops, schools, restaurants, the city, public transport, the airport, some freeways, the beach, a couple of pubs etc etc.
Kingsford is not such a great place to live in other respects. For example, our house gets broken into every couple of years and my relatives occasionally get mugged on the street. I also feel that I should note here that, despite the high percentage of ehtnics and substantial crime, I don't really live in a 'hood slash ghetto (not that there's anything wrong with that). A proper free-standing house in my neighbourhood doesn't sell for under a million dollars anymore.
But back to what I was trying to say. If memory serves me correctly, as it does for the host of Iron Chef, since I've lived here in the past twelve years, last night was the sixth time our house got broken into.
I walk up to the house and no one is home yet. The lights aren't on and everything looks fine. As I get a bit closer to the house, I hear a very high pitched noise. Unsure whether it is tinnitus or not, eventually Ed confirms that he hears it too. I start to get a little nervous.
After opening the door, I turn off the alarm. The high pitched noise stops. Everything looks fairly normal. Ed then asks me if the back door is meant to be flung open. I say, uh maybe. Upon closer inspection, it clearly isn't.
They smashed the glass in the back door
leaving splinters of glass strewn on the floor and gaining access to the laundry room.
They then jimmied the lock out of a second door
and estranged the lock from the metal door.
Now in the house, they scoped out what to steal, but the alarm must've gone off so they grabbed my dad's laptop (with its power adaptor) and made a bee line for the doors they broke.
Welcome to my home.
The worst thing is I'm not even particularly fazed. It's happened just so many times that I'm more fed up than anything.
Kingsford is a great place to live, location-wise. We're close to shops, schools, restaurants, the city, public transport, the airport, some freeways, the beach, a couple of pubs etc etc.
Kingsford is not such a great place to live in other respects. For example, our house gets broken into every couple of years and my relatives occasionally get mugged on the street. I also feel that I should note here that, despite the high percentage of ehtnics and substantial crime, I don't really live in a 'hood slash ghetto (not that there's anything wrong with that). A proper free-standing house in my neighbourhood doesn't sell for under a million dollars anymore.
But back to what I was trying to say. If memory serves me correctly, as it does for the host of Iron Chef, since I've lived here in the past twelve years, last night was the sixth time our house got broken into.
I walk up to the house and no one is home yet. The lights aren't on and everything looks fine. As I get a bit closer to the house, I hear a very high pitched noise. Unsure whether it is tinnitus or not, eventually Ed confirms that he hears it too. I start to get a little nervous.
After opening the door, I turn off the alarm. The high pitched noise stops. Everything looks fairly normal. Ed then asks me if the back door is meant to be flung open. I say, uh maybe. Upon closer inspection, it clearly isn't.
They smashed the glass in the back door
leaving splinters of glass strewn on the floor and gaining access to the laundry room.
They then jimmied the lock out of a second door
and estranged the lock from the metal door.
Now in the house, they scoped out what to steal, but the alarm must've gone off so they grabbed my dad's laptop (with its power adaptor) and made a bee line for the doors they broke.
Welcome to my home.
The worst thing is I'm not even particularly fazed. It's happened just so many times that I'm more fed up than anything.