Sticks and stones

Last night's fizz and cupcakes was delightful, but there was a wee spoiler on the way home.

Driving through Queens Drive and the Green belt I got a hell of a fright with an enormous bang and clatter on the car windscreen. Fortunately I had my Hanes self-cleaning underwear on, but unfortunately there was a ruddy great chip in my windscreen - my new windscreen that was replaced only three weeks ago. Grrrrr.

The cause of all this? Stone throwing little SHoneTs. They must have been hidden in the trees. As I had a kiddie in the car I didn't stop to investigate, but when I got home Hubby hopped on his bike and nipped down to check it out while I rang the police.

He found two teenagers up on the bank, still throwing stones at cars, and who proceeded to throw stones and swear at him too. Charming.

Anyway, the police didn't have any cars available to send out last night, but a lovely policewoman came to the house today to fill out an incident report.

So what's this all got to do with anything other than Vanda being in a rage at the idiotic antics of clueless teenagers and being down some dollars on the insurance excess?

I had a policewoman in my house, a young police woman. So although she wasn't short like my Sam Shephard, I did quiz her on a few things. She was most amused to being questioned by the complainant, and saw the irony of a crime writer making a complaint due to willful damage.

So I learned:

Those stab-proof vests they all have to wear are majorly uncomfortable.
After a few weeks they mould a bit to your body shape, but not much.
For the first two weeks it's hard to breathe in them.
They weigh about 6 kg for the little sizes, and the big blokes who need bigger sizes they weigh considerably more.
The police hate them.

All stuff I suspected anyway, but good to hear it from the horses mouth.

So although it was a pain in the bum circumstance, and I am still ropeable about thoughtless little *$%@%**s breaking my windscreen - you can always turn a negative into a positive.