Sad fuck

We took to drinking in The Southern again last week while Shirley and Neil were here. Neil likes it, and it's handy for the bookies, even though it's no longer walking distance from home since we moved.

This meant a short sojourn for me each day - late afternoon or early evening - to meet up with whichever of the rest of the family had fetched up there, take anyone who hadn't already made their own way there, sink a couple of pints and drive everyone home for dinner.

Parking up outside the pub on Monday I noticed a small pile of broken glass at the edge of the footpath, along with a tumbler still miraculously in one piece. I didn't think much of it - par for the course round there - but stepped carefully over it and entered the establishment to negotiate the vending of some beery comestibles.

I don't know what sixth sense told me to check the car over when we came out of the pub, but I'm grateful for it. Someone - probably one of the schoolkids bored by waiting for the bus - had decided it would be a hilarious prank to place the unbroken tumbler under the car, directly in front of my front wheel. Had I driven off without moving it, I would certainly have crushed it beneath the wheel and suffered, at best, a slow puncture, or even a total blowout.

So to the sad little fuck who did it: what goes around comes around buddy. Keep your eyes open for someone as funny as you.