It's raining. Who would have thought that was going to happen in rainy old Swindon? Not a downpour I have to say, but a sort of indifferent and patchy damp mist. About time too because the air was very stale yesterday. Those of you who live in places like Miami might laught at my british inability to deal with humid warmth, but hey, try our dampness.

At least today is a chance to get some cool air into the house. Oh yes, here in blighty we have air conditioners too. We call them windows. Unfortunately open windows allow noise from the street to enter my little haven of peace and quiet. That intermittent bleeping from the pedestrian crossing for instance. Or the burglar alarm from the empty office across the road. Or the occaisional social gathering in the street. Workmen digging up the road trying to put something right that the last bunch who dug it up got wrong. Or the doppler shifted wail of a police siren flashing past.

Talking about the police, did I mention previously that since my efforts to solve the mystery of my missing car has obviously impressed someone? I received a job alert email telling me that I could start a great career with the neighbouring police force. Now to me that seems like a difficult interview. I mean, it's all very well well showing up in a shirt and tie, but they're going to want people who have no sense of humour. I would have to look totally serious.

The answer to all my problems is a company in Kent who are importing used american police cars. I too can cruise around in a Ford Crown Victoria with a friendly message on the side telling the public how safe I'm going to make them. In an american car with primeval suspension and no steering? At least I can switch on the lights and siren to warn people I'm driving through their quiet little village.

However, despite the V8 lurking under the hood, I will not be allowed to drive fast, siren or not. Let's face it, arriving a little too quickly won't improve my chances in interview at the police headquarters. If Hollywood is anything to go by, I'll also be upside down. They'll really love that.

"Excuse me Sir? You can't park that here..."

Catspotter Corner

Has there been a change of yard ownership? Tabby has vanished and the other day I saw a black and white cat, a larger, more confident member of the species, patrolling his new realm. I'll be posting updates as I get them.

A More Serious Territorial Argument

I remember being told a tale about a lancaster bomber shot down over Germany in World War Two. The crew managed to bale out. Six of them were picked up by the Wehrmacht, the regular army, and were treated well. Wounds treated at hospital, persons taken to a prisoner of war camp. One of the crew had the misfortune to be picked up by the Waffen SS, the military arm of Hitlers bodyguard. He was hanged from the nearest tree.

The recent news that a british soldier went missing in Afghanistan, later to be found shot dead, was for me a sobering thought. Why should this be so in particular? More than a hundred british sldiers have ended their lives in that very dry and ruined corner of Forever England. Some of those were shot, others dismembered by the indiscriminate improvised explosive device.

Strictly speaking, any death is regrettable. Each one calls into question the desire to interfere in a poverty stricken desert far far away. Yet this apparent kidnapping was something more spiteful. In a contact situation, the possibility of death or injury is always present. There's a sort of gladiatorial mindset that accepts this. Live by the sword as it were. But when a man is kidnapped and shot dead, it doesn't equate to any sense of an honourable fight. It was, in a very real sense, premeditated murder, inspired by religious zealousness and cultural bigotry.

I imagine the Taliban, who claim they did it unashamedly, would sneer at my view. Well it isn't as if I was overly impressed by their announcements to begin with, but those who kill without honour have none. I'm sure a soldier would understand that.