She came in and told this story and, being the brave, reckless kind of guy that I am, I crept upstairs and checked out the car through a crack in the curtains. It was still there. They were still inside. What was going on?
This is where the country mouse side of my character comes into play. I love being so close to London, but I am prey to all sorts of paranoias about urban living. I decided – wrong word – intuited – that these guys were heavies sent by a loan shark to rough-up a guy who lived here before us. Surveillance with menace. They were waiting with baseball bats and, if I went out, they would lay into me thinking I was this fictitious character. I outlined the scenario to P. It cheered her up (‘it’ being my stupidity rather than any imminent threat).
After about twenty minutes they drove off with much revving of their engine. I needed to get things in perspective, so we relaxed by watching The Sopranos. It started with a severed head being dumped in a culvert. I didn’t sleep much last night.
It’s raining. Not good shed erecting weather if you ask me.