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Decemberus Shittus

I'd rank this last couple of weeks as the worst I've had for a few years. I'm sure that if I knew enough latin, I'd rank this as a somethingus horribilis - but I don't.

So I won't. I'll just call it shit.

It all started at the beginning of the month. I was not well. On the face of it, you'd just call it a bad cold. However, I've never had something that knocked me for six in such a way. Over a week and a half since I first got it, I'm still coughing away nicely. It's been a pain in the arse, so as to speak. Work has also not been a barrel of fun and not wanting the bad consequences of taking time off sick, I've kept going in.

At the end of last week, I was at my worst - so on my weekend, I spent a good while under my duvet on the sofa, drinking enough tea to float a battleship, with a veritable assortment of painkillers and a dessert of Super Mario Galaxy. I felt foul, and as someone who has only had three days off work in the last five years, I think I must have been justified to feel that way.

I went back to work on the Friday, still feeling appalling, not helped by the fact that someone had broken into my car whilst I'd been indoors. The bastards had attacked the door with a hammer and screwdriver in an attempt to prise the lock from the door. They'd failed, but it hadn't stopped them from making a nasty hole in my door.

They'd stolen virtually nothing from the vehicle. I reckoned that after a break-in which would require three hundred pounds on bodywork repairs, they'd stolen stuff worth about thirty quid - a mobile phone charger, a car-mains adapter for my GPS unit and a box of random vehicle spares from the boot, containing great stuff like windscreen fluid, anti-freeze and WD40. W00T. They also stole a few CDs, but most of them were ones I'd burnt on my computer. It didn't justify the break-in.

They also stole my tax-disc. The police, useless as they've been, said that another eight vehicles along the street had been broken into.

Once I'd twigged that they'd stolen my tax-disc (believe it or not, I don't stare at it every day), I naturally had to do something about it. Investigating further, I took a trip to Truro to get a duplicate at the negligible cost of seven quid. Ironically, the police, shit at catching genuine criminals had a field day with me - I got two tickets. One for "parking a vehicle on a public highway and not displaying a valid tax-disc" (duh) and another as a random parking-offence, which should not have been issued. I am appealing against it. According to the time on the ticket, they issued it four minutes after I got the tax-disc from the office (I checked it against my card-receipt). I just didn't manage to run back in time.

What grates is the inability of the police to do anything but stamp upon those who are generally law-abiding and milk them for their money. Before leaving the house, I called the police up and asked them about the whole tax-disc matter. The response I got from the person taking the call was "It depends on the mood of the police officer who stops you as to whether things are progressed further". Should it really be down to that? Hardly reassuring, is it?

The aftermath of all this is fairly simple - I'm skint. I guess considering my post of a few weeks back, there's not much to say. It's wiped out my money good and proper. In the New Year I'll get the car's bodywork fixed up (requiring a big patch-up, re-spray and new lock) and today I've got the alarm-system upgraded. I can only apologise if it goes off in the future. However, I'd rather it went off every now and then and foiled an intruder, as opposed to having to go through all this again. It's not been fun. It also goes to show how car dependant I am and I'd love to be able to do without. It's just a shame that's not practical.
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