Polis at my door

One of the consequences of living with CP, and his living with TS/AS is that he attracts attention, and, after years of non excitement (despite spending my marital years with a gambling, drunk, womaniser....) meeting him has meant I have had many a brush with the Law. Firstly, there was a group of youths who laughed at his TS talk and his dyspraxic walk. When his Inner Asperger decided to show itself by remonstrating with them ('excuse me, may I ask why are you laughing') including wagging his finger in their faces, he got a large, empty bottle of vodka about the head. A and E all night. I'll give you a forehead scar, Harry Potter. You should see the scar on CP's forehead after THAT incident. Voldemort? Voddiemort, more like.

Thus, a visit to the polis station to identify the wee youths, etc etc. Then there are two separate road rage attacks on his person, where he stopped to tell the drivers how badly they were driving; one where he had actual strangle marks on his neck (I have found the urge to do that myself, sometimes) - and another where the guy had punched him in the neb. Since then, four times the Law have appeared at the door: CP has been spotted muttering and appearing to be in distress, CP is swearing in public and there has been a complaint, CP being yelled at by kids again and when he shouted back, their mum complained.

Today, polis at the door, and me in my jimjams. I thought, what now? The guy is the same polis who came to tell me some kid had nicked my chinchilla from the shed and that he had been retrieved and was being held in polis custody (the chinchilla, not the kid...) CP was out so I thought the worst. Especially as he asked me if I owned such and such a car etc etc. Oh No. Thinks I. He's challenged someone again, or they've seen him ticcing and have snitched on him, he is particularly ticcy this week as we are planning a trip away, that always sets him off. But no. It appears that I (ME!!! Surely not....) had been to the petrol station and left without paying. Oh. My. Goodness.

In the throes of trying to get away from the chatty till personage, whilst buying a bagful of groceries at the same time as the petrol, she had, whilst telling me her life story, forgotten to press the petrol bit on her till. And having paid some paltry sum for milk, bread, beer, chocolate (all the staples) I didnt notice that £15charged to my card, wouldnt have covered the tankful of petrol too. Well, I do go back a long way... I remember being upset when petrol went up to 50p a gallon (ask your grandmother...)

SO this time it was my turn to stand in the porch with the Law, and I quickly proved my semi-innocence after a very unpleasant rummage through my dustbin (law of sod: the receipt was stuck on some nasty substance) and showed that I hadnt just driven off without intent. Just driven off without wits about me. And in case you think I am writing this from clink, I was allowed to phone the garage and pay over the phone. But, methinks, the garage at the Triangle wont be seeing my good self there for a little while... unless I wear a false moustache...