"The bastards!"

The policeman and I looked into my bedroom.

The contents of the bottom draw had been strewn everywhere – including the emptied cases of a few racy DVDs.

“They took your smut too?” the officer said smiling. I nodded, like every man I thought they were well hidden. “The bastards!” He added laughing.

Rewind five hours and I hadn’t even contemplated that my flat was in the process of being ransacked. The thing about being burgled is that you never think it will happen to you.

So after having a few post-work drinks and picking up some take away on the way home -I did not entertain the belief that I could have been robbed – even after my key got stuck in the door.

After 15 frustrating minutes of standing in my hallway I decided to call a locksmith, who, as it turned out, would also rob me later that night.

The locksmith – who kept reminding me his company was called Goldilocks (like it was the wittiest company known to man) – had spent a full hour trying to open my door when the guys upstairs came in from their night out.

And that was the first time thieves crossed my mind.

“You sure you haven’t been burgled?” one of them said.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Wouldn’t my door be open if I had?”

How wrong I turned out to be. Once Mr Goldilocks opened my front door all my possessions – and my housemates possessions were strewn across the floor. I assumed that shelf had collapsed.

But when I saw the hole where the Wii and TV used to be my heard sank.

“That’s £150 please,” Goldilocks muttered refusing to look me in the eye. “Sorry about the burglary.”

After another 90 minutes the police finally turn-up.

Apparently the thieves cam through my housemates window – which they crowed open – and then ran to the front and latched the door.

So now they are enjoying our Wii, TV, computer monitors, cameras, clothes, PSPs and trainers.

Not to mention my collection of films under my socks in the bottom draw.