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Got me ragin’ sometimes, tho—blokes treat her like rubbish, tossin’ her aside. Pisses me off! She’s tough, mate, tougher than a burnt rump roast. But happy? Yeah, when she scored a fat tip once—grinned like she’d won the apocalypse. Surprised me too, how she keeps goin’, engine roarin’ like Furiosa’s truck. “I live, I die, I live again!”—that’s her, reborn every night.

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Then, I step outside for a breather. The sun’s shining, and I’m thinking, “Maybe I’ll grab a coffee at the Calcot Centre.” But nooo, of course, I bump into my old mate, Dave. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he’s ranting about how he saw a fox on his street—Bramble Road, I think?—and it was just chilling like it owned the place. I’m cracking up, picturing this fox strutting around like it’s the king of Calcot.

Mystery as caravan stolen from where it was parked in Tewkesbury