Over the past few weeks I’ve been fighting a battle with the Metropolitan Police; my number plates had been cloned and they’ve been sending me emails indicating I’ve done bad driving deeds all over London in my car, telling me I’ll get points on my licence, threatening to fine me £1000 and providing me with photographic evidence of me perpetrating these crimes in my Black Ford Mustang Mach E. And here’s the rub, the photos are a brown estate car, probably a Honda or a Hyundai. My vision isn’t great and its definitely not getting better. We all start falling apart right? But to tell me I’m in the wrong and broadly threaten me with all sorts of punishments, death by a thousand traffic light violations or driving in a Bus Lane at the incorrect fucking time, when Ive only got a very short amount of time to read the sign telling me when and when I can’t go down these roads, and to actually know the time on top of that. Jeez, its like I’m trying to defend myself when I’ve done nothing wrong. And here is my point, during the early months of this bloody inconvenience, I was rather complacent preferring to think that it would just go away, thinking that if I told my fleet manager at work that she would magically look after me and make it all go away. This doesn’t happen and whilst I knew I was never going to get into trouble for the many things I didn’t do, there was always the thought in the back of my mind that this backlog of fines and confusion would soon end up looking like a long dead junkie’s front door mat, a pile of pizza and curry menus, a dash of political flyers with a sprinkling of red demanding bills. I was not going to go down, but I was going to ultimately sort out my mess, created by someone else and then given to me to sort out, like a jigsaw in several bags with some of the pieces glued together picture to picture.

It was in this instance that I thought about my friend’s idea for a website called “sort my shit out .com” which did, well, just that. Changing banks, electric companies, sorting out council tax, income tax, moving house, organising the Metropolitan police into some sort of order, and getting me out of a hole which I had no right or desire to be in… But there is no sortmyshitout.com at least not for this sort of thing, they’d probably drop me a few grams of coke if I called them, that might be more up their street, and I’d probably still get into trouble with the police. So after numerous emails, printing off photographs of my car and not my car writing a letter to the police enclosing photos, etc. Guilty until proven innocent and all because the cunts didn’t look at their own photos and cross reference them with my type of car, as similar as a gold fish and a pike; not very. So I took to Twitter and within 20 minutes, someone was asking me to DM them and they would look into it, gave me a crime number and a reference number, thanks you very much see you later. Far be it from me to tell how the police to operate, but I might suggest a bit of modernisation, care, attention and maybe check your facts first, it’s the little things.

A week later I get a letter of a sort of apology; 2 lines, sorry for any inconvenience caused, yours sincerely…

Which was nice.