Entering a ‘vintage’ jewellers. An old telephone code (and number) is displayed above the premises. The space, more of a living room-cum-workshop. Four men (60s+) stood/sat around. An ineffectual fan blows onto a mountain bike by the back door. One man slumped in a chair, another propping up the counter, deep in a crossword. The perfect foil for any would be heist? A sense of sheer bemusement that there appears to be absolutely no security (and thus perhaps concluding that there is nothing of value).