Some [expletive deleted] has parked their brand new, big-arsed Toyota people mover in our small (but perfectly formed) street. I’d imagine they've gone to the races, which is only a short tram ride—or rather longer stagger—away. Of course, this [expletive deleted] has a vehicle with a faulty car alarm. So the sodding alarm has been going off every two minutes for ... well ... quite some time now.
I called the police. (An adventure in itself because the station has changed location and phone number three times in the past couple of years. Call the old number and the message tells you to ring another one. But ring that and a message gives you another ... Honestly, they might as well hand over a treasure map with a set of clues in rhyming couplets.)
Anyway, the officer on desk duty was very helpful. Not that he could do much because the vehicle was registered to a business rather than an individual. But he commiserated and we both hoped that the person responsible for the vehicle did his/her dough at the Cup. (Because we were in the fun-lovin' spirit of the day.)
(Update: I can now report that the car alarm has stopped. Maybe the cop did get hold of the owner. Maybe it was because someone saw me taking a photo of the offending vehicle with the camera in one hand and a brick in the other*. Or maybe the owner found out that the lad down the road is newly out of clink having done time for stealing cars. And not for joy riding, either. Who knows? But that brain-lasering noise has ended.)
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*One part of this statement may not be true
