The relative impact of this one night on the whole of my life is nothing compared to setting up a child to reoffend
I had modest plans for the Christmas just gone: get my family around, crank up the pizza oven, eat a whole box of shortbread on my own. More than anything, I wanted to relax. I hoped to be so intensely calm, in such exquisite respite, that I would simply become an amorphous blob and slide happily into my new life in a nearby drain.
Then my house was broken into.
