Traditional recipes

Thieves Stole Almost $70,000 Worth of Kellogg’s Cereal Bars in Scotland

Thieves Stole Almost $70,000 Worth of Kellogg’s Cereal Bars in Scotland

The thieves raided a trailer truck and made off with about 20,000 pounds of the breakfast bars

Itemmaster

That’s probably enough cereal bars to last a lifetime!

They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and these thieves seemed to have really taken those words to heart when they stole cereal bars from a trailer truck. Either that or they were just very hungry.

Thieves in Scotland stole approximately 20,000 pounds of Kellogg’s cereal bars worth about $70,000 at 2:30 a. The truck was parked at Lockerbie Lorry Park, located in Dumfries and Galloway in the southwestern region of Scotland. The park is a facility for trailer truck drivers to take a rest stop.

Detective constable Martin Lumsden from the Scotland Criminal Investigations Department believes that the thieves carefully planned out stealing that many cereal bars.

“We are reviewing closed-circuit television footage and want to hear from anyone who may have been in or around the area of the lorry park around the time of this theft,” Lumsden told BBC News, “or indeed the hours and days prior to the theft as those responsible may have been in area carrying out some form of reconnaissance and planning.”


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Aarongilbreath’s Blog

Whenever people tell me that New Yorkers are unfriendly, I tell them a story. In the Park and 33 rd subway station one February morning, I noticed someone leading a pale woman by the arm in a crowd of commuters.

When I offered help, the first woman said, “I think she’s diabetic. Are you diabetic?” The second woman shook her head and moaned. Her eyes were open but registered nothing. The first woman introduced herself as Margo, and the stranger in her arms as Carly. “You’re going to be okay, just take slow deep breaths.” I took Carly’s free arm and helped her up the stairs. Amid the crush of pedestrians, she squeezed my hand, and I held it tight.

We sat her on Park and leaned her against a building where she crumpled over, head down, arms in her lap. “Carly?” I said. “Can you hear me?” Margo called the paramedics.

Pedestrians streamed by. The sun warmed the frigid air. A passerby in a suit stopped and took her pulse. “You eaten?” he said. She shook her head no. To raise her blood sugar, I gave her the only sugary thing I had: a ginseng sucker.

I ran inside a store to get water. When I returned, a doctor in gym clothes stood in the first stranger’s place, asking pointed questions. Carly admitted she hadn’t eaten since 9pm the previous night.

A woman stopped and asked us if everything was okay. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

“I know CPR,” said another passerby. “If you need it.”

At Carly’s request, Margo called her boss to say there was a problem. She worked at a nearby fitness magazine. Minutes later, a short woman bounded across the street.“Oh no!” she said, and stroked Carly’s hair.

The doctor disappeared but left his card. We all joked about the great medical services on the street.

Before the paramedics arrived and lectured us on eating habits, Carly looked up and, for the first time, seemed to make out our faces. To me she said, “That sucker you gave me was dee-sgusting.” She laughed. We all did.

NOTE: Here’s where the published Metropolitan Diary pieces appear. It’s a lively section, always worth reading: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/category/metropolitan-diary/


Watch the video: Strawberry Cereal Bars (November 2021).