I've only been burgled once in my life. It was in my second year of uni, living with my sister in an apartment building in Russell Square. I was sleeping over at Amrita's house that night, when I got a call in the morning. It was my sister.

"Girlay, I have some bad news. Don't freak out."

Ok.

"We got burgled last night, and your laptop's gone."

Ok. Not that bad. Laptops get stolen all the time. I would recover. I would be just fine.

I hurried back home anyway. We sat down and called the police, as I inspected the damage. It seemed the burglar had crawled in through my window. We lived on the ground floor.

Then it occurred to me that he had stolen my second mobile that I had left in the room before going out. Oh bother. Now I'd have to go through the hassle of calling the phone company and disconnecting the line.

Then I realised he had taken my little purse where I kept my credit cards. Double damn. Call HSBC, cancel cards, report them stolen.

It was all really more a pain in the arse. No scars emotionally, nope. I was a tough one.

Then, I realised he had taken my little handbag in which I kept all my makeup. My makeup! Why did he have to go do that? What meanie takes a girl's makeup (even though I admit housing it in a handbag didn't make it any less tempting for a thief under pressure)?

I believe that was when the line got crossed. I exploded in a flood of traumatized tears, rang my mother up who happened to be in Australia visiting my aunt, and had to speak to my aunt first before she passed on the phone to mum, alarmed.

The things that set us off. Crying for a bit of makeup. Sigh.