On the journey back from retrieving my car from its illegal impoundment I noticed that the mileage was heading to a landmark figure and I intended to keep an eye on it. Then I forgot all about the matter as, driving through Thetford Forest, I was overtaken with the joy of singing along to my Barbra Streisand CD.
We have residents parking only round our streets and as it was late when I finally arrived the bays were all full – this irritating situation is quite regular – so I parked round the corner in the next zone’s bays (Zone C). You will normally get away with that, parking-ticket-wise, which I did, but I’d left it under a tree which had been the night-time roosting spot for a particularly incontinent grandma pigeon. Since the car was coated with lucky guano now (my chariot is in a purple patch at the moment, having treated me to a monster MOT bill last week on top of the impoundment) I drove it back home to the pull-in spot round the back of the house to give it a wash and it was as I came to a halt that the instrument panel caught my eye; not only had it reached the landmark mileage but this was amazingly and serendipitously palindromic with the journey trip counter.
All I need to do now before I put it on the market is to arrange for Swiss Tony to clock it for me.