We usually drive to Kensington Gardens to go for a walk.
A few days ago, we parked outside Robert Baden-Powell’s old home (first Chief Scout of the world). Once we were safely parked, the husband took so long answering some emails that we had to postpone the walk until later.
After a few hours we returned to Kensington, parked again and walked through the gardens for a few hours then wandered back to the car. Apart from a Mercedes’ size empty space, directly outside the scout’s house, there was nothing in the little road that we could remotely call our own.
Right next to the empty space was a dark van with tinted windows. The van advertised it was a security company. Much to the hubby’s dismay, I trotted up to two young men in their matching security polo shirts. They had been parked in this road all day, apparently.
I asked them if they had noticed anything untoward like a ‘car napping’ in the last few hours?
“ What? Absolutely not! “ They seemed slightly horrified.
I suggested that they must have been terribly preoccupied guarding their client to be so completely unaware of a daylight robbery right under their noses.
I did point out (as an afterthought) that the thieves or thief responsible for our ‘car jacking’ had to presumably break into it first, before driving off?
I then decided to discuss our predicament with some smiley scaffolding men opposite. They were naturally fascinated by the unfurling drama. None of them had seen anything either.
I introduced the security boys to the scaffolding boys.
The scaffolders offered us a peak at their CCTV cameras, though we would need to seek police permission to do this.
A very pretty lady (who seemed to be managing the serviced apartments on the corner) offered us a peak at her CCTV camera as well.
She was obviously angling for an introduction to the security boys.
Off we marched towards the police station. I was feeling rather stressed at this stage. Why would anyone want to steal an old Mercedes estate unless for nefarious intent?
Queuing at the station took ages. Then, after about twenty minutes of form filling, the hubby turned to me and whispered “I’ve just had a thought..”
In that moment, I too “just had a thought.”
Eventually we left the station clutching our ‘crime number’ and harbouring ‘our thoughts.’
We asked a taxi to take us back to Kensington Gardens where, in Queen’s Gate, rested our old blue Mercedes estate.
The first trip up to Kensington Gardens (before lunch) we parked outside Baden Powell’s home in Hyde Park Gate.
The second trip up (after lunch) we parked in the next door road.
We limped back to the police station (expecting to be ‘nabbed in possession of a stolen vehicle’ at any moment.)
The husband explained what happened to the lovely policewoman whilst insisting that she accepted twenty pounds for their Police Orphan’s fund.
Today we will take a photograph of where we leave our car, just in case ‘our thoughts’ get tangled up and delayed in dark dusty corridors again.’
More wry stories from Miranda can be read here