This morning, a neighbour knocked on the door. It was just at that awkward time when Timo is getting dressed and I'm in the shower. Timo opened the bathroom door just wide enough to grab his robe.
I heard murmured, just-woken-up voices, but nothing more. The front door slammed shut. I assumed it had been something to do with the post, or maybe with rubbish again. Last week some bright spark had found his way inside our rubbish room and re-arranged the bins to a leaning tower of Pisa (all the wheelie bins are inside a room, out of sight, just by the front door to the building).
As I got out of the shower, I realised Timo was no longer indoors. He'd gone out in his robe.
I put the kettle on. He walked back in.
"I'm afraid it's not good news for cars out there this morning."
"What do you mean?"
"Some wanker has poured acid over all the cars in the residential car park."
"I'm sorry, but they got yours too. Poor Smart."
Timo rang the police and washed the remaining acid off the car. Luckily, the Smart's unusual design means it had not been damaged even nearly as much as most of the other cars had been. The acid-throwers had aimed at the roofs, but the Smart has a glass roof, which meant that Timo was able to just washed the acid off it. The back door is totally ruined, however, and there are some acid corroded splodges on the left panel and Tridion safety cell.
I rang my insurance company and a couple of garages. We'll have to pay a £200 excess, which really messes up our current budget; we are still tight until Timo's new, additional earnings begin to kick in.
Ultimately, this is just material. It doesn't matter. Still, I am gutted and feel surprisingly violated.
It's like someone has managed to touch my life without being invited to do so.
And I feel sad that even in this quiet, cosy town, there are people whose lives are empty and miserable enough to have to go around destroying things.
When we eventually get a house rather than a flat, I will insist on a double garage. That should help a little.