So, does anyone read these back dated entries, incidentally? Could I just fill them with “babble babble blah blah” and have no one notice? Apart from me…?
Bleh.
So, I’m knackered. Really, really knackered. I’m way overdrawn (over my limit, woo, go me). I’ve got no money coming in for another….week. I’m spending money on myself. Fuckit. Really, fuckit.
No, anyway, that’s not what I want to write about. Yesterday John made the mistake of mentioning that he’d seen a “shiny” bike abandoned in a hedge in Duchess Park. Which was, um, a mistake. So; I checked out the procedure for recovering abandoned vehicles and, without too much hastle, produced the:
1) Confirm not stolen with police
2) Get home
3) Get V5
4) Flog off
plan.
So, this morning after (almost an hour of) swimming we (that is Nikki, Lauren, John and I) headed down to the park in my car, and wandered around like nutflakes going “where is it” – and then, there it was, lying wheels akimbo in a patch of brambles. Quick, a photo, just as evidence that it really was lying in a bush and I didn’t pinch it.
Then, we hauled it to uprightitude and what was legible of the frame number was discerned, it’s numberplate presumably relaxing along with the rear brake light, the indicators and the ignition switch… somewhere well away from the bike.
I rang the police… there was no match on a Red Suzuki with that frame number; the woman agreed that I could take it home and see if we could make out any other distinguinshing marks. My brain had flagged that somewhere on it there should be an engine number…
So, working as a team we pushed/dragged/slogged the bike the mile and a bit across wild grassland and up the valley slopes to Nikki’s house. Where we plonked it unceremoniously in her garage before walking back down the valley and slightly up the other side to where we’d parked so that John, Lauren and I could head off to Sainsbury’s to get lunch.
One lunch and coffee later, Trey, Lauren, John and I headed back to Nikki’s and started the treck to our house; a sum total of 4 miles of pushing the god-forsaken object (now named ‘Ting’ – after the chirpy sound it’s damaged centrestand made as it bounced off the ground) to the house. Whereupon I looked at it some more. And lo, the engine number was located.
And read to the police… who informed me that a complete match for that vehicle was indeed on their database; it is stolen, and could they please come and pick it up as soon as possible :-(
Still, I found someone’s bike, so it’s all good Karma; or something.
At any rate, I ended up having an afternoon nap having reached the stage of ‘unreasonably tired’ by 1600hrs. Which meant that I finally headed off to my parents about 1830, having collated bits of chair and some speakers for my car – so that I can slap the speakers in that I’ve been intending to put on the back windowsill before I have to do any more long journeys.
Particularly long journeys like that last one. I’ve been in far worse traffic jams, but goddess, if they dig up any more of the M4, there won’t be any of it left to drive down.
My dad, oddly, is looking better. This, I know, is not him getting better. I’m fully aware of what this means in terms of his health. Having worked in hospitals long enough to get a feeling for the way diseases progress; one of the cruelest twists of illness is that quite often as people get progressively more sick, they go through a phase of looking ‘suprisingly’ better. I’ve seen people who’ve had dementia for years and years become lucid coherant individuals; I’ve seen people who’re dying look 10 years younger and like they’re about to hop out of bed and go home. I know it’s not likely to be a good sign; but it’s still nice to see him sat in a chair, not in so much pain, and not confused.
Anyway, I should sleep. Sleep the sleep of the extremely overtired. Despite the sounds of Radio 4 coming up through the floorboards.
