Sunday afternoon - Arrive back from Sri Lanka, v knackered, v smelly (with that long distance flight smell that they must spray around the cabin when people are asleep, probably opening people's mouths and bunging a bit in there too).
I unpacked, spoke to loved ones and attempted a poo. I failed in the latter task, despite the presence of the latest edition of HI!!!!!!!!!!!! Magazine to accompany me.
I downloaded my photographs, updated my iPad and generally synced more things than I know what the fuck is going on with and then got myself a few zeds in.
All in all life was peachy. I'd had a fantastic time in the motherland with C and yet was also enjoying some aspects about being back here in London, as mentioned.
Monday morning - went to work. Caught up with the things that needed catching up with (not much as most of my team are infinitely better at doing things than I am!). I put a quick Facebook status up, mentioning that it was nice to be back in a land of politeness and road manners.
In the evening I went to that night's band practice like a kid who hadn't done their homework. Because I hadn't done my homework; to learn three new songs. Don't tell the band though. My journey's listening material was the three new songs and I reckon I bluffed it successfully.
Then things went a bit wrong.
The chap, you know the one, the one who does stuff in the studio barged into our one and said:
"Sorry chaps, but does anyone here own a red Audi TT?"
And I had one of those moments, the ones that repeat in your mind, that haunt you and make you wish you could turn the clock back and do things ever so slightly differently. My first thought was that someone had crashed into it, which was unpleasant. A brand new car, with pristine bodywork is a thing of joy, never exactly the same after it's had its first accident.
"Yeah, why what's happened?" I replied, because all of us musos talk in slang like that.
"Someone's broken into it"
"Fuck" I said, and went outside.
I'll give him his due, he was telling the truth.
There stood my car looking forlorn and shattered. Literally. Well, literally apart from the "forlorn" bit. The rear windscreen was in pieces, literally, not emotionally and the parcel shelf was sticking out of it looking like a sailing boat painted by Picassso. I sighed, as you do.
Some fuckwit had smashed it with I assume a rock or brick, stolen my briefcase, which was out of view and locked in the boot and scarpered. He'd also broken the window of another car close by and taken the chap's Blackberry.
I suspect that guy must have been watching me when I got out and put my briefcase in the boot, or it was just an opportunist act. Either way I've ended up losing an iPad and an expensive briefcase, neither of which is covered under the terms of my insurance policy.
The Police came out and took all the necessaries. Both them and I knew that nothing would come of it unless the culprit walked into the local Police station and confessed to the crime. Even then he'd have to be following the correct procedure or no charges would stick anyhow.
Our singer helped me to make a sort of emergency covering out of black bin bags to keep the glass from spilling everywhere. I was so perturbed by it that I said I was going to go home. The chaps in turn were so understanding that they let me. Weird.
But I genuinely think I've been lucky. The only bit of damage to the bodywork is a tiny paint chip about 2mm in diameter, down to the bare metal. A touch up pen is on its way to me to sort that out.
The new windscreen is on order and the car currently has a couple of large pieces of industrial strength cling film standing in. So it means I have to use a hire car, not covered by insurance either!
My iPad has become very important to me so I've ordered a new one and will just have to pay for it. But, with technology and the iCloud on my side, I should be able to restore the new one so it's a complete clone of the old one the night the thing got stolen. Of course I have to wait for the beast as Apple have strangely miscalculated demand for it and don't have any in stock (or have they?).
But it's a bummer of a thing to happen. I hope the piece of shit who did it one day has to go through the expense and hassle that I have, just so he knows what it's like. It's cost me many hundred, well more like a thousand or more pounds, just so some idiot can get fifty quid for an iPad down the pub to spend on drugs or whatever.
Still, that's what happens in a land of road manners and politeness!