Nightmare / World Cup Injury

Nightmare

Lewes Garret. 3.41pm The last 24 hours have been a total nightmare.

Someone has trashed my beloved motor, The Last Word in Luxury, by crashing into it, smashing the back axle and knocking off a back wheel. It was parked on a supposedly respectable street in Royal Leamington Spa.

I only heard the glorious news late last night when a Day-Job colleague called me. I felt numb. This morning, it had vanished without a trace.

Enquiries have revealed that it was Plod who nicked it, ordering a local garage to remove it, without checking with me.

I have had unpleasant conversations with Plod and the garage all day. The garage wants £105 from me. I think Plod should pay, but, naturally, he is refusing.

So, I have lost my car, been stitched up by Plod and these guys at the garage, and my insurance cover won't cough up a penny.

I do not know why I don't just put my money in the litter bin and set fire to it. It would save a lot of time.

God, I feel angry. I am thinking of writing to the Chief Constable of Warwickshire, but I do not expect it would do any good.

If was not for kindly and wise friends like Brian, who I saw yesterday for a drink at London Bridge, I would probably end it all here and now.

World Cup Injury (Flashback to Bank Holiday Monday, 15 May, 2006).

9.25am. Lewes Garret. My back was not good this morning despite me doing the prescribed exercises. It occurred to me that the last time I got a serious physical injury was four years ago, in Spring 2002.

Maybe like Beckham or Rooney, I am destined to get crook every four years in the run-up to the World Cup! That is what prevents me from playing for my country, reducing me to purchasing England socks (three pairs for £2.99) from TK Max in Brighton.

1.56pm. Lewes Garret Garden, beside the lilacs, as white as my hair! Still feeling a bit low, although it is beautiful, sunny and hot out here. I did a hour's work on Oliver's Garret and got up two Friends' Poems. Not bad.

Then I tried an hour's paperwork and did less well. Admin is so boring and, generally, so unnecessary. Why do the banks keep sending out all this bumpf. I believe Kenneth Williams used to put it all in a drawer and never open it, cheques and all.