What burglars don't steal

When you’re burgled, by people who you’ve come to suspect are French, there are six things that pass through your mind. I’ve distilled these six thoughts as the universal human stages of dealing with home invasion, possession theft, and a lack of sexual assault that’s bordering on remiss.

Thought 1. Oh hey, I’ve been burgled pretty hard.
Thought 2. I’ve got so much more space to do handstands now.
Thought 3. This has the familiar whiff of France about it.
Thought 4. Look at all the awesome stuff they left behind.
Thought 5. I wonder if they came into the bedroom and watched me sleeping before deciding against the sexual assault.
Thought 6. This could be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for to use that Windsor font from The Good Life titles.

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Today, I’ll be focusing on point four.

A glass of pink wine. It was like we’d laid the room out for Santa Claus. Whenever I’m stressed, my mouth becomes dry and uncomfortable. I’d hate for anyone burgling me to become irritable and lose focus because they’re involuntarily smacking their lips and wincing, so I left a glass of murky pink wine out. Clearly, it wasn’t fucking good enough for them.

If I’d known we had dignitaries visiting, I’d have put out a tube of prawn Primula and some Tia Maria. Next time, give us a bit of fucking notice, OK? I’ll leave a Tuc biscuit wedged into a little pink cushion shaped like Prince Philip’s bum crack. I can be classy when I need to be.

A Carnival of Monsters DVD. This means one of two things. Either they thought that it actually was a carnival of miniaturised monsters that would expand to full size when the box was opened, or they’ve already watched it, and know what incoherent shit it is. Take that, Terrance Dicks! In your well-respected face!

A pouffe. I can understand this one, actually. It’s perfectly rational to imagine that this is a sophisticated Al Murray-summoning burglar alarm. The first burglar to say, “Do we want that pouffe?” would trigger a seventeen-minute sketch with Al Murray’s gay Nazi. And I think it’d sound something like this:

Al Murray: “DID SOMEVON SAY POOUUUUUFFFE?”
Henri-Luc: “He honh he honh.”
Jacques: “I could use a pouffe in my downstairs room.”
Al Murray: “ME TOO, IF BY DOWNSTAIRS ROOM YOU MEAN ANUS.”
Jacques: “Well, I probably did. The phrase ‘downstairs room’ isn’t really a common one, I was using it mainly to set you up for that exact response. I was being a dutiful straight man.”
Al Murray: “I’M A RIGHT COMMON ONE, I’LL DO ANYTHING FOR A CHOCO LEIBNIZ.”
James Corden: “I just think it’s brave of me to make so many jokes about my weight, when it must be genuinely horrible looking like I do.”
Al Murray: “HANG ON, I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING ABOUT STRAIGHT MAN YET.”
Henri-Paul: “Il y a onze oignons dans le poubelle, je veux les baiser.”

[Al Murray re-enacts every conversation of the entire Second World War in a hysterical gay voice, while Corden removes his top and starts pushing socks into his belly button.]

Hot Naga Chilli. I’d like to think that the burglars were spice cowards, and my taste in nature’s thumpier condiments took them aback. However, I suspect the reality is one of them saw the bottle, got everyone to look at it, and said, “Naga, please!“

Everyone would have laughed for around twenty minutes, and then their stupid mate would have come through our window, and ruined the skirting-around-the-word fun for everyone by saying, “Nigga, please”, and expecting everyone to laugh in the same way. Breaking the joke in this way just sped up the theft of my stuff, so you can imagine how annoyed at him I am. Even Al Murray would have to black up before saying the N-word, and he’s very much the barometer of what is and isn’t brilliant.

Guitar Hero World Tour: Actually, I’m bored now. I’d just put the words on the image, and felt like I had to mention it in the body copy. Look at me, saying phrases like body copy, like it’s normal. I’ll be saying “page furniture” next. PRESS B TO STOP EVOLVING INTO A PRICK

Anyway, here’s a quick summary for you: