Starry night

We've been voted the #1 shithole in Dun Laoghaire by the guys (guy?) who broke into our house tonight. 
While Pepe was doing the 40 minute round trip to pick up Mimi from the gym to be more precise, sometime between quarter to and quarter past eight. 
While Mrs Raheny and I were out feasting on duck confit and slow cooked pig cheeks on a rare night out. 
The poor fuckers who broke in through the back door must have been in some amount of disbelief upon realising that we have pretty much fuck all worth stealing. I have a feeling there were curses muttered as they went through our desperately not resalable stuff. 
The Gards told Pepe that these days the guys don't bother with laptops or cameras and other electronic shite that's so hard to flog on the black market. 
They look for jewelry and cash. 

You'd think that the Dacia usually parked in the driveway would be some sort of a hint... 

Poor, daft fuckers, risking a custodial sentence for half deflated birthday balloons, leftovers of fried chicken and potato waffles and one bottle of Furdyna champagne. 

I'd try to explain to them that happiness does not reside in material things, but apparently they were in a hurry.