As any columnist worth his salt knows, sometimes you stare at a blank computer screen for hours without experiencing a brainwave.

As any columnist worth his salt knows, sometimes you stare at a blank computer screen for hours without experiencing a brainwave.

That's why the David Bullards and Justice Malalas of this world are paid so handsomely.

This was one of those weeks. That was until some lowlife felt sorry for me and decided to write my column himself yesterday.

Just before mid-day yesterday, my household helper called me at the office. She was hysterical.

While she was doing the washing in the laundry at the back of the house, there was an attempted break-in.

He or they found an open window and using an assortment of tools, prised at least one burglar bar open and struggled with others in an attempt to create a space big enough to enter the Molefe household. Fortunately, the culprit, or culprits, panicked.

And talking of Bullard, I had just belatedly read the Sunday Times that morning where the columnist told a sordid tale of how he and his wife looked into the belly of the beast, and barely escaped with their lives.

At the time, I was recalling my own experience a few years earlier.

I had just moved into my current home and as luck would have it, being the middle of a school calender year, Mrs Molefe and the kids were still in our old home in Pretoria. So I had to make do with takeaways and cold dinners for months.

One night, returning from a weekend shindig at Hartebeestpoort Dam, I realised that I had left my house keys on a boat, about 60km away.

Being late, I decided to spend the night at a friend's place in Rosettenville.

I had barely settled down when the police called me with the bad news.

My house had been burgled and the two thugs had been found right inside my house, helping themselves to my favourite leg of lamb.

They had used my black plastic refuse bags to load my earthly stuff, from TVs, to clothes to my favourite jazz CDs.

The louts tried to convince the cops that they were just visiting their uncle.

But they couldn't explain two things. Was their uncle white? You see, I was still in the process of changing the house documents from the previous white owners.

And if it was their uncle's house, why did they break a window to gain entry?

The thugs got four years for their trouble. Thank you very much.

I have often wondered what would have happened to me if I had not forgotten my keys at the dam.