Thirteen people were arrested last week following a burglary at a farm in Surrey. The occupants of five cars broke into the farm and pinched several dozen trays of eggs. According to the police statement, they proceeded to throw eggs at the building before making their escape, chucking more eggs over the motorway bridge onto the M25 as they went.

The police admitted they were somewhat at a loss as to the purpose of the incident and appealed for anyone whose car was hit by an egg to come forward.

I was tickled by this, partly because of the apparent ludicrousness of the situation – why would anyone want to pinch that many eggs and then throw them away, unless to practise making a really big omelette? – partly by the question of what a random motorist whose windscreen happened to be smeared by a stray egg while on the way home from work could contribute to the police investigation, and partly because it was had parallels with another story I heard.

The owner of a house in Bristol had put a freshly-made bacon sandwich down on his garden wall while he talked to a neighbour, and when he reached for his sarnie he found it now consisted merely of two slices of bread. The sandwich was devoid of bacon, its contents having been stealthily and silently stolen while his back was turned for a moment.

I believe no arrests have been made in this case, though the identity of the perpetrator is well known locally. The suspect is described as being female, about a foot tall, with green eyes, black, ginger and white hair and a long tail; and a penchant for curling up in front of the telly purring, while licking bacon fat off her lips.

It occurred to me that if the egg thieves and Ernest, my friend Kim’s cat, went into business together they could supply all the fixings for a full English breakfast. Ideally, of course, you’d need someone to weigh in with some stolen tomatoes and baked beans and things, but it would be a start.