It cruised into the car park with a cacophony of classless rumbling. Suspended low, spankingly shiny, it’s the sort of car Rubbish drives until he gets caught for road-tax evasion. Blue, tinted windows, mounted by a massive spoiler, the Mitsubishi farted like a petulant child on a baked-bean diet. It circled the car park slowly and carefully, as if practicing for a souped-up “check out my car” curb crawl, eventually finding a spot in the far corner.
We eagerly awaited the appearance of the driver, gleefully speculating... “Spotty 17-yr-old?” “Boy-racer?” “Mid-life crisis?” A mature gentleman clambered out of the car. Suited, tied, immaculately presented, his tiny round spectacles giving him a badger-like appearance. Don’t ask me why, it’s not as if badgers wear spectacles, although to be fair, they may well do when driving. Come to think of it, he reminded me of Badger from Wind in the Willows and while I'm on the subject, I’ll bet Toad would have loved the Mitsubishi.
He wandered round the car for a half a minute or so, inspecting, scrutinising, gently wiping the glass. Then he ambled across the car park towards us, glancing over his shoulder every few metres to, I dunno, check that it hadn’t been crapped on by a pigeon. He looked a tad paranoid too, as if he sensed he was being watched. Funny that. It’s not as if there were thirty of us crowded at the windows above.
What followed was sublime. As soon as he reached the far side of the car park the Mitsubishi’s alarm went off, shrill and piercing enough to make your ears bleed. He scampered back to the car fumbling for his keys. I've never seen a badger move so fast.