Had a visitor tonight. Came with a blue uniform, a hard hat and a badge, and he turned up on our doorstep looking grave and grim.
"Does a Mr. X live here?" he asked (obviously substituting X for our real surname).
1. "Yes," replies my mother warily.
"Are you his wife, ma'am?"
"Yes."
"Does he own an orange Kia Picanto, of the number plate," and he
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I'm going to go commit random acts of pointless destruction on your behalf.
(On the other hand, losing a car is a lot better than losing a dad. He did eventually come home, yes?)
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