‘Where’s the car?’ said my wife Alice, interrupting my Zoom meeting on Saturday morning. ‘It’s where you left it,’ I said perhaps more pointedly than was kind. ‘When you drove it home last night. On the drive.’ ‘No it isn’t,’ she said.
I left my Zoom meeting, shambled to the front of the house and looked out of the window. She was right. Half-full skip, yes. Wheelie bins, yes. The usual pizza boxes, empty vodka miniatures and crisp packets scattered outside our house by generous pedestrians? Present and correct. But no car.
‘It’s been stolen,’ I said gloomily and, of course, I was right. Much of the next couple of days was spent on hold to the insurance company and the Met — both of whom seem in a spirit of ecumenism to be keen on respecting both the Jewish and Christian Sabbaths.