Last summer the village had its very own crime wave although the local community constable felt it unnecessary to consult with Scotland Yard. There had been a string of petty thefts from many local gardens and always the perpetrator made away with the same booty; knickers.
It would seem that the local lasses had attracted the attention of a criminal mastermind who had taken to trophy hunting. No house or garden was off-limits to this determined & adept individual who’d scale walls to pull off a heist and soon became known as the Phantom Knicker Picker!
I’m ashamed to say that even Dyson Abbey fell prey to this cunning criminal but frankly anyone brave enough to remove my mother’s newly laundered smalls from our washing line must have had a death wish and/or balls of steel. During a daring dawn raid my titanium re-inforced party pants (my deflector shield in my continued fight against the dark side) were also snatched. It would seem our robber baron did not discriminate in his choice of victim or undergarment and clearly had no shame either.
Until the bandit is apprehended Chez Dyson knickers for the time being will remain secured being dried in our utility room courtesy of Mr Zanussi and not gently caressed by a Devon spring breeze.
Should the stolen swag and the culprit ever be discovered it will be interesting to see if all village ladies will be forthcoming in identifying their own belongings or regretting not hanging out the Victoria Secret’s or Janet Reger lingerie.