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21 August 2006

Should I Go Into Real Estate?

The same kinda thing keeps happening over and over again.

When I first moved back to Birmingham - well, the first time since leaving school in '92 - I got some of the old boys crew round to my empty city centre flat for a housewarming. While we got merry, we heard a noise outside, a drunken roaring. Anticipating amusement, we go to the window to find a really, completely twatted individual, who seems to be talking to someone up in one of the flats. Seems that person wants him to break into the car for them. Which he does. He then farts around under the steering column for, literally, ages. This is not the world's slickest car teef. Anyway, the best (?) bit's yet to come. While this chap is fucking about in the car, the owner returns. We see him come around the corner, he instantly detects something up with his car. He casually walks up to the passenger door, opens it and gets in. There is a moment's pause. Then the vehicle begins to rock and shake and wailing, screaming starts piercing the night. After 30 seconds, the driver's door opens, and our would-be-thief tumbles onto the pavement, shirtless and clearly covered in blood. Not a lot of blood, not main artery business, but blood all the same. Needless to say, the road and car were sealed off by the cops, who also came upstairs to talk to us lot, like we needed that.

Now, sorry, not the same thing, but along lines similar: tonight, I arrived at my flat in London, and as I turned in the road, there was a BMW 3-series, silver, parked in the road. In front of the car was a meatwagon manned with plod. The boot of the car was up, and three officers were peering in with torches, while a fourth searched the car interior. Clearly a drug-related bust, and I can only assume that the driver and passenger/s are concealed by the smoked-out glass at the rear of the van, in the holding pen.

If any of you ever need house-buying or flat-renting advice, give me a call. It's location, location, location with me, 100%.

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