It’s just before 2am on an April Sunday during last year’s first lockdown, on a suburban road in north London. A man saunters down the front path of a semi-detached house, hands in the pockets of his denim shorts. Reaching the front door, he bends down to pick up two pretty olive trees in pots, much loved by the homeowner, then scarpers. Half a minute later, he continues on his ultra-early morning constitutional with a companion by his side and the plants on a grandma-style shopping trolley.
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