Some things just don’t add up

On my jogging route I pass some small dilapidated industrial units opposite the railway tracks and on the edge of a fishing lagoon. At one end of the plot is a screened off area that has razor wire along the top of the high fence. As I jog past, an unseen and lonely barrel chested dog howls at the sound of my footfalls. A perpetual fire, reeking of man made materials, smokes from behind the tarpaulins.

At the other end of the plot is the enclosed car park fenced off with two metre high chicken wire. One of the units appears to do car body repairs. It’s the kind of place you would find underneath some railway arches.

The thing is, the car park always has the most expensive cars you can imagine tucked away in there. I’m talking Bentley Continentals, Aston Martins, Ferraris.

Call me cynical, but either there is a lot of money in car body repair or the owner and his mates have spectacular private means and only work for a hobby.

It’s a bit like when you go into a busy part of town and in the most coveted of convenient disabled drivers parking bays is parked some exotic and ludicrously low sports car which a Chinese gymnast with a hoist would find difficult to enter and exit. In the windscreen is the blue badge of a disabled driver…

Yeah, right.

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