In a twist that would make Alistair Cooke spin in his grave, three reprobates have been rightly slung in Dutch clink for nicking a priceless golden helmet from the Drents Museum. The helmet, a Romanian antiquity so shiny it practically screamed at security, was liberated by a trio of bunglers who thought they were in a Guy Ritchie film. Enter the British Art Recovery Unit, a cadre of coppers with the subtlety of a sledgehammer and the efficacy of a Swiss watch.
They swooped in like posh avenging angels, coordinating with their Dutch counterparts to retrieve the gleaming headgear. The helmet, now safely back in its glass cage, is probably plotting its next escape. One can only imagine the sheer brass neck of these thieves, nicking a helmet designed for a Dacian king, only to find themselves facing a judge who likely had a spare robe made of pure schadenfreude.
The recovery unit, meanwhile, will no doubt be lauded in Whitehall corridors, their success a rare beacon of competence in a world gone mad. But let us not forget the deeper absurdity: a helmet, forged centuries ago, becoming the centrepiece of an international crime caper involving British specialists. It is a farce wrapped in a heist, served with a side of colonial condescension.
The moral of the story? If you are going to steal a helmet, make sure it is not the sort that comes with an international manhunt. And for the love of all that is holy, avoid the British Art Recovery Unit.
They are apparently quite good at their jobs.
