Colonel Thomas Blood’s attempt to steal the Crown Jewels in 1671 reads less like a criminal mastermind’s triumph and more like a farce performed by a man with excessive confidence and an alarming lack of common sense.

Blood, an Irish adventurer with a flair for reinvention, decided that England’s most heavily guarded treasures would look better in his pockets. Disguised as a respectable clergyman - because no one ever suspects the clergy - he befriended Talbot Edwards, the elderly Keeper of the Crown Jewels. Blood even arranged a convenient “marriage” between his supposed nephew and Edwards’ daughter, proving that identity theft was alive and well in the seventeenth century.

Once trust was secured, Blood struck. He knocked Edwards senseless with a mallet, tied him up, and set about dismantling the regalia like a burglar assembling flat-pack furniture in a hurry. The Crown was flattened to fit under his cloak, the orb was stuffed down his trousers (hardly regal), and the sceptre was sawn in half. Unfortunately for Blood, subtlety was not his strength. Edwards regained consciousness and raised the alarm just as Blood and his accomplices were attempting a casual exit.

Captured and hauled before King Charles II, Blood did something extraordinary - instead of being executed, he charmed the king. Whether Charles admired Blood’s audacity, his creativity or simply enjoyed a good story is unclear. Blood was not only pardoned but granted land in Ireland - a reward that must have baffled every honest subject in the realm.

In the end, the Crown Jewels were restored, Edwards survived and Blood walked free. His legacy is not that of a successful thief, but of a man who tried to steal the symbols of monarchy with disguises, nerve, and a hammer - and somehow talked his way out of the consequences. If nothing else, Colonel Blood proved that in Restoration England, confidence could be worth more than gold.