Hello hello hello

Grit gets a letter from the police. They're complaining about the state of the car. Not the fact that the wheels have no tread on them, mind. No, not that. About the state of the interior. Apparently, with the stuff that's routinely left inside my vehicle, I might attract car burglers.

For example, Grit thinks, Burglar Bill might see the old coat that belongs to Shark which has paint down one sleeve. Then he'll think 'Aha! That's a tenner down the Dog and Bone for me tonight!' Or the local dodger might eye-spy the broken wicker cassette box, out of which spills the Once Upon a Time audio cassettes that cost ten pence at Hitchin Scouts. Or perhaps Jungle Jingles with Bill Oddie catches his eye, and he'll have those broken cassettes down the Sunday car boot quicker than you can say farkin ell. Tell you what, when we're down there, we'll pay the bloke a fiver to get them back.

So what else will we find down the car boot sale? I'll do an inventory now to assist the police. There are three car seats, covered in a variety of stains. These are distinguishable by the fact that there are no covers on the arm rests because Shark, Squirrel and Tiger ripped them off some time ago and used them as weapons on the AI(M). They were confiscated shortly afterwards and taken down the tip just outside Hexham.

Or there's brochures from National Trust, English Heritage, and sundry tourist sites up and down the country. Most of these we've no intention of visiting, we just like collecting the brochures. Four copies of each brochure, usually. We justify theft on this scale by saying one day we might pass Tintagel Old Post Office or the Farne Islands and need to check opening times. Perhaps the local dodger will collect them up from the footwell, glove compartment and out from behind the flap that hangs down on a broken bracket to screen mummy Grit's scowling face from the autumn sunshine.

While he's at it, Burglar Bill might make away with the emergency bottle of Dettol. And the ice skating gloves and spare knickers we carry about just in case. Ditto socks, tissues, and strange scraps of fabric that look suspiciously like they've been cut from someone's clothing.

Then, of course, there's the assortment of toys. The pencil sharpener shaped like a horse. A plastic ball, joke glasses, bits from a K'nex set, and a confiscated woolly elephant.

On the back shelf there's more to attract the eye. There's the French folders, with Elle est grande spilling out above a crayoned picture of a fat lady. I bet that's worth a few bob. As are the plastic bags in case Squirrel is sick. And the variety of sticks, conkers, leaves and confiscated natural found items that are bundled into the back of the car because otherwise we can't go home.

There. That about wraps up the inventory. Not counting, of course, the moulding banana skins, squashed fruit juice cartons, green sandwich ends and ground up biscuits that are living forever in the upholstery.

Or, of course, Burglar Bill might take one look at the above and think, 'Poor cow. She's obviously got a right load of messy arses to deal with. I'll slip a fiver through the open window to put towards the valet. No, wait a minute. Make that a tenner, and I'll just open the driver door, 'cos tell you what, it's never locked.'