Midnight, and the rain is pattering lightly on the window and some herbert is driving what is probably a midnight blue Citroen Saxo with an exhaust pipe the size of a dustbin around Bookers car park, which is just at the top of the road.
They leave their gates open at night, presumably in case the building catches fire and the fire engines need to get in, but most nights there is the sound of squealing tyres about now and the over-revving engine of some tiny car that has just scraped into insurance bracket one.
When Monsieur Citroen sat back in his deep leather armchair, sighed a sigh of hot Parisian pavements, twirled his waxed moustache and signed off the last pastel drawings of the prototype Saxo, did he think for one moment that his beloved creation would end up disturbing the peace thanks to some acne-splattered twat in a rain-soaked car park?
Non.
We ran a hash course through Occombe and Scadson Woods tonight, thanks to Alan and Jamie the course markers. It was wet, slippery and muddy, but tremendous fun. We ended up at the Old Smokey where the joy of a pint of Adnams was tempered slightly by the fact that the lovely barmaid took more than three pounds off me for it. Nanna was talking about some new wallpaper she has found with fibreglass in it. I asked if you could build a boat out of it. It seemed a perfectly sensible question when it left my head but Mr Fangio nearly soiled himself with laughter.
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