The state of play

A strange weekend, this one was. 

We woke up on Saturday intending to take the kids out for the morning, to the park and later for a milkshake. We got them loaded up and strapped into the car and I was about to jump in myself when I noticed one of the tyres was flat as a pancake. Oh. Drat. So the kids were bundled back out and inside (not such a bad thing in hindsight, as it was a freezing cold morning with a frigid wind) and Dad started reading the car manual to find out how to change the flat (a man of many skills am I). 

I looked in the boot and to my surprise, there was no spare tyre. Shit. So I phoned the garage and asked if they could help. As it was Saturday and busy, someone promised to phone me back. Half an hour later my phone still hadn't rung so I read through the manual again. This time I saw that my car actually doesn't have a spare tyre. Instead it comes equipped with a bottle of foamy stuff that apparently you spray with a nozzle into the tyre valve, which magically seals any punctures, as long as they are not large. Oh, and joys, there is also a pump concealed in a little compartment in the side of the boot, that I didn't have a clue about. This plugs into the car charger. 

Still, the thought of pumping my tyre full of foam made me feel nervous, particularly if the tyre is subsequently ruined. So, sleuth that I am, I decided to have a quick look at the valve cap. Lo and behold, it was loose and only just connected. Strange. I took it off and to my surprise, found a small stone lodged inside. To cut a long story short, some arsehole had let our tyre down. Quite clever really. I wouldn't have thought of it myself, but then again, I don't make a habit of skulking around in the middle of the night, causing trouble. Still, a slight hint of admiration for the method of allowing the tyre to deflate slowly overnight, without being caught in the act.

The interesting thing is, one of our neighbours told me that the bloke who lives across the road from us hates people parking outside his house. Now, for those of you who don't live in the UK, street parking is the norm; most houses, particularly older Victorian ones, don't have the luxury of driveways and garages. In this country, unless the parking is permit, zoned or you block a driveway, you are generally allowed to park wherever you like. We parked outside this cretin's house and only blocked his driveway by about 2 inches. The irony is, he never parks in the drive anyway - it is too narrow for his own van. He sometimes parks a trailer there, but perhaps only a handful of times a year. For those of you thinking that I am jumping to false conclusions, you may be right. It is very hard to prove (and I won't even try) but my neighbour told me that it has happened before over the years).

The thing that pisses me off the most is that if the bloke had an issue, he could have simply been civil and taken five minutes to come over to us, knock on the door and ask us not to block 2 inches of his driveway. After all, we have lived across the road from him for over five years and I imagine he would know what our car looks like by now! Deep down, I would have still probably thought him a prick, but I would have moved the damn car. 

I don't want to drag this on much longer, but I would like to end by wondering, why do people have to behave like this? What sort of switch goes on inside people's brains that makes them resort to underhand, childish, and frankly, cowardly and bullying behaviour?