My fascinating post yesterday about opening the floor console storage compartment lid in the Ford Focus has reminded me, as I morph into Jeremy Clarkson before your eyes, of another motoring story.
A couple of weeks back when I got into the car of a morning, I half noticed that all the interior's lids, all its compartments etc. were open. Didn't really pay it any mind. Over the course of the day (my mills grinding slowly) it gradually occurred to me that I must have left it unlocked overnight and everything in it had been stolen. In particular refunding all the auction items I had in the boot cost me a pretty penny.
Everything had been stolen, that is, except the packaging of a BLT from a service station and my personally inscribed copy of Sean's latest novel (passim).
I hope I am on record somewhere saying that I think the book is the best thing he has ever done, but I haven't told him the story yet because I won't be able to do it without laughing.
If they had only taken a signed copy of his book while leaving all the watches and jewelry I would have been on the phone the same day.
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