The other day the wife asks me if I had been in her car as all the cassette tapes from her glove box were out on the floor. I hadn’t. The wife then starts worrying about her camera which she kept in there. Was the car door locked when she got in? She couldnt remember. Was she certain that the camera was within? She wasn’t entirely sure. Could the camera be at work? Possibly, there was no way of knowing until her work reopened today.
Just so you know, the car is parked over night in a private back lane and at most times it is blocked in by Gareth (aka G the Human Dog)’s big purple nasty. It’s not entirely noticeable unless you happen to be trespassing in the first place or taking a short cut from the village club.
Of course this morning the wife managed to gain entrance to her work only to find that the camera was not where she thought it would be. This means one of 2 things.
a) Sometime after Boxing Day and before New Years Eve, some passing thieving little scrote (who, should I discover their identity, will be learning the true meaning of terror by the means of a chair in a cold dark room and the deprivation of clothing) just happened to try the car door and found that it was unlocked. Helped themselves to the camera, closed the glove compartment and the car door and continued on their way.
b) It’s in the house somewhere.