A noise outside brought me back from my trip down memory lane. I ran to the window to see what had happened. A blonde lady at the wheel of a Mercedes sports car was attempting to park in a space much too small for it, and had reversed into the Volkswagen Golf behind: my Volkswagen Golf. And we’re back to reality, I thought as I raced to the front door. My neighbour, Jon, had also heard the commotion and was outside on his pathway laughing. Probably pissed, I thought.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he called when he saw me. ‘Hey, you’re home. Have a good time in India?’

‘That’s my car she’s bashing into,’ I said. I could barely believe it. I’d been back five minutes and he was already causing problems. There was always something with Jon, usually involving one of his many conquests, parking in my space or parking without a permit, or generally causing problems. We’d had many altercations over it. Parking was sparse on our road and each resident had a limited number of permits to give out when there were visitors. With his many callers, Jon abused the system. He had so many women arriving at all times of the day and night that I’d joked to Marcia once that he was maybe a male escort for women who liked older men. Not that Jon was that old: he was in his mid-fifties, his brown crew-cut hair had only a little grey around the temples, and he had twinkly eyes that looked full of mischief. He worked hard at staying fit and lean, too. I often saw him out jogging or off to play tennis when I was leaving for work. And another one bites the dust, I thought, as the latest leggy girl got out of the car and tossed Jon the keys. ‘Be a darling,’ she said. ‘Parking never was my strong suit.’

Jon headed for the car as I sighed and turned to go back inside. It was freezing out there, I was tired, and I could examine any damage better in the daylight the next morning.

‘So sorry Bea,’ called Jon. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Welcome home. Happy Christmas.’

Without turning back, I waved. ‘And Happy Christmas to you too.’

I couldn’t be bothered to get into an argument at that moment. The silver-tongued charm that won his women over had ceased to work on me months ago when, as well as the parking, he repeatedly left his rubbish in front of my house. He hadn’t got the hang of separating plastics from cardboard from glass, and I’d had to do it for him on more than one occasion for fear of inciting the wrath of the bin-men. God, he made me cross!