A computer 3D-imaging analysis of the broken vase has shown that there are still some shards missing. These may never be recovered – they are gone to the vacuum cleaner, the draught from the open door, the imprinting into the soles of passing shoes.

To be fair, the restorers have done a fine job and, to the casual eye, the cracks don't show. A decent magnifying glass reveals a different, more fractured picture but nobody is going to get close enough again to notice because this precious Ming vase is now under lock and key in a secure display cabinet. Previously, it was kept by its owner on the mid-point landing of a set of staircases. Asking for trouble, one might say. A hasty descent, a clumsy footfall or arm-swing and bang goes several thousand pounds worth of valuable antique ceramic; shattered into several thousand pieces.

Which is precisely what happened, of course. You might have seen the CCTV footage in one of those "And finally…" moments on the BBC News.

We have reviewed the videotape over and over – normal time, quarter speed, stop-motion, even speeded-up so that it looks like a Laurel and Hardy slapstick moment. We have grilled the culprit, the somewhat appropriately named Mr Ronald Dent, on copious occasions yet have never been able to make stick a charge of malicious intent. It looks like a genuine unavoidable accident. Or else Mr Dent is an Oscar level accomplished actor.

His membership of the National Trust – with its roster of stately homes sporting uncountable, breakable items of great historic and aesthetic value – was discreetly terminated. The man's a loose cannon, a disaster waiting to happen.

That might have been the end of it except… perhaps I've been in the detection game too long and start to see patterns and linkages everywhere. You know what they say, don't you? The only conspiracy theory you should pour scorn on is the one that tells you that conspiracy theories are bunk.

The environmentalists and the anti-capitalist lobbies have been out protesting on the streets again. Moved this way and that like liquid mercury by the Metropolitan Police, a few dissidents broke cover and lobbed stones at the usual soft targets – a bank, a McDonald's, a Starbucks. The windows cracked with that strangely compelling nebula pattern of fractured glass. No major injuries; and nothing particularly new about this style of vandalism, I know.

Then there was that other guy who walked into a gallery and openly defaced a major painting by Rothko. Cue the usual quips about how could anyone tell or don't you mean that he improved it?

Something is definitely in the air. The Rosetta Stone has been attacked twice this week. There are breakages and wilful destruction all around us but the government has made sure that it doesn't get reported. Unless it's being done by Middle East terrorists, denying and defiling their own country's history and heritage.

We are approaching the end of days, where we will knowingly destroy all that we have previously loved. Anarchists, vandals, wreckers prowl our streets and seek to beat the necessary high security surrounding our art treasures. So that they can smash everything.

Our future is to be like King Ozymandias: just a pile of rubble from a forgotten culture. Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

But it's not rubble really, is it? The shattered stones themselves may be more important, more fulfilling than the original, complete monument. Pompeii, Luxor, the Parthenon… All beautiful, yet all partial.

How beautiful the Ming vase is whole, but I can imagine that the many constituent parts would have the majesty of a field of stars.

The CCTV footage only hints at it. I turn the cabinet key slowly in my hand. And ponder my next move.

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