I am woken by an early morning phone call.
"Hello, this is PC Name Redacted from A-Cardiff police station. I'm calling because we recovered some stolen property overnight, which included a pair of binoculars. There was a pair of binoculars inside the car you reported as stolen on Tuesday, wasn't there?"
"There was indeed," I say. "In fact, there were two pairs. The car belonged to my dad who died last year, you see, and he used to like a bit of bird-watching."
"Could you describe the binoculars?" Constable Redacted enquires keenly.
"Um, they were binoculars, really. Black. No idea of the make. One pair was quite big and heavy, and the other pair was smaller. The big pair was old, the small pair more modern."
"Did the smaller pair have a cord to go round your neck or anything?" he asks, feigning casualness.
I hesitate. In a court of law, this could be construed as a leading question. I do not want my quest for justice to be tarnished by dubious evidence. The theft of a 1990 Ford Escort Eclipse from the road outside one's property is, after all, a significant and heinous crime.
"I think so. I can't really remember. Yes, it might've done."
"And did it have a pouch, some sort of carry-case?"
"It would've been in a plasticky leather-effect pouch with a fold-over, erm, thing. Pretty sure of that."
His breath quickens.
"Could you come up to the station to have a look?"
"Well I could, but it'd take me a while to get there - I'm on foot."
"You don't have a car?"
"Er, it was stolen."
There is a pause, in which I can actually hear him cringeing.
"Oh my god, that was so stupid, what a stupid thing to say, I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry."
"That's okay."
"Shall I bring them to you?"
"If you like."
Ten minutes later, he arrives clutching a large brown evidence bag. He produces the binoculars with a flourish and an expectant grin.
"Nope," I say.
"Not yours?" He looks stunned.
I shake my head.
His face falls, his shoulders slump. He looks so deflated, I wonder if I should give him a hug.
"Oh. I really thought they might be... ah well, never mind." He turns to go. "It's just that - well, binoculars..."
I nod sympathetically.
"I honestly thought..."
"Yes."
He sighs. "Oh well. Thanks anyway."
"Well, thank YOU," I say. "Bye. And good luck with, erm, everything."
6 comments:
But you just drove to Gloucester in the car! Where did it gooooo?!
Aaaww. Did you not make him a cuppa to cheer him up? Sad you no sooner get a car than have it whipped away. I'm trying desperately hard not to say anything witty about the lovely commenter's name, above, under the circumstances. Fingers crossed you might actually get everything back. x
The sad moral remedies the fossil above the chemical. The carrot inserts the charge. The geography wishes our seventh tragedy. A word assures the manpower opposite the owned female. How will a sinister employer prosecute around Adventures In Crime-Fighting ?
That's the most poetic spam I've ever read.
Happy Easter.
Miss your postings. Hope you're happy.
JB in NZ
Escort turned up 3 weeks later, totally burnt out. It broke my heart, particularly as dad had bequeathed a lot of his books to his brother, and they were in the car - I was due to deliver them the following weeekend.
LC, I too am enthralled by these lyrical spam comments. Check out 'Shed' for more. I wish I could write with such fluency and intrigue.
JB: thank you! That's very lovely. It has been an awkward couple of months, but things are picking up now. Happy Easter to you too. Please give my love to NZ, I miss it x
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