Parking.

I was working on my van at the bottom of the drive, when Tricia suddenly appeared. She seemed very flustered and indignant.

"Look at this," she says, and hands me a note. "Bloody cheek," she goes on, "I have been parking there for twenty seven years!"

I read the note. "Well Tricia," I say, "It seems like you have been parking in someones private drive for all those years."

"But why would they suddenly write me a note after all these years?"

"Maybe new people have moved into the house and they aren't so easy going?"

"I shall keep parking there," she says, "I shall write them a note asking for permission."

"They might not want to give you permission."

"Don't see why not, there's lots of room in their drive."

Just at that moment, a man rides by on a bicycle, "Good morning," he calls cheerily, and Tricia and I both wave and wish him good morning back.

"Who was that?" Tricia asks.

"That's the new community policeman," I tell her.

"Oh crikey," she says, "we shouldn't be talking to him."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Last week he told me off for parking in that private road at the back of the co-op!"

Tricia and me look at each other, and we both burst out laughing.