Weirdly appropriate to last night's Slapper Gear was the kerb crawling I've been practising this week. It took me many hours, but I'm now a master at prowling along a kerbside at 4mph with a quietly humming motor, as I eyeball those waiting willing victims who line the roadside, trying to find the one who will satisfy my keen probing eye ....
I spent forty minutes in the Sainsbury's car park in Charlton last week, looking for number 21. I swear the woman eating a sandwich in her car outside B & Q was about to ring the police. I spent a bit less time in Canary Wharf car park, hoping to find a personalised plate (mostly because they have CCTV, security checks and a ring of steel to facilitate my being thrown out all the more swiftly), but spoiled the artfully 'careless' effect by doing it three days running.
I know where there's a 24 and a 26 regularly parked. I also know there is a God and he's laughing up his sleeve at me, because I've now spotted 721 and 217 approximately five separate times, each. As well as 214, 215, 216, 218, 219, 921, 821, 621, and 421. Fucking bastard god. Stobbit!
Which reminds me, during last night's prostitute impersonation on a Charlton by-road, I spotted a huge car park outside Asda. Ahhhhhhh. That's my Saturday night sorted out, then.