I have been a victim of crime. I am now a harrowing statistic. I stand shoulder to shoulder with the growing number of victims of serious crimes like those poor impoverished millionaire record labels.

I have had my wheeled bin stolen. I went to collect it the other day and it had gone. I wandered round the neighbourhood in my dressing gown and slippers with a towel round my neck, looking for it.

I couldn't find it and, thankfully, because of the recent release of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy the neighbours thought I was merely impersonating Mr Arthur Dent rather than being a crack pot trying to find his wheeled bin.

I have resigned myself to never seeing it again. I'm not too upset. I wouldn't say we were very close - we had a very good working relationship. I produced rubbish and it stored it until the bin men came. However, now I am starting to miss it.

I had fish last night and the slimey, scaley, smelly skins are sitting in the kitchen bin stinking the place out.

I must finish those "Reward Offered" posters.