
So, Monday morning and I had a stolen car blocking my drive way. Yeah… a bit different. It’s usually so quiet in my neighbourhood that I sometimes wonder if everyone has been kidnapped by triffids and I somehow missed out. Mind you, if I was a triffid I would probably think again about taking me to triffidom because I can be a pain in the arse and I am just not worth the effort.
Anyway, I wandered across the road to speak to the shirtless one to see if he knew who owned the car. Who is he? A neighbour, about 40-ish with long, late 1980’s style hair and I have never seen him wear a shirt. I don’t know why because it’s not like he is an Ellora’s Cave cover model – and yes beauty is in the eye of the beholder but his ‘beauty’ is just beyond me. Anyway, the shirtless one did not know – nor did his young girlfriend. He has heaps of them…again, I don’t get the appeal but it has to be the lid for every pot thing or maybe too much pot is being smoked and lids get flipped… whatever…So then I rang the local cop shop. The police asked the usual question. Rego number? I told them. Make and model of car? I don’t know but it’s sort of a sandy gold colour that has a tinge of almost silver through it as if burnished –one might even call if brassy. This is apparently not a good description. I then added it has four doors. There was a long silence. I like to think that they were dazzled by my Nancy Drew abilities of description. I was then asked to go out and look at the model. I came back and told them. In a moment they told me it was a stolen car. Well, there you go. Could I stick around for the officers to arrive? Sure, it’s Monday morning and it’s not like I have to go anywhere important to go but for work. No doubt they needed my uncanny Nancy Drew abilities to help them.

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