It was my first time (honestly, Officer), and anyway, it appears that I wasn’t even all that good at carjacking – he managed to get away. If you’re wondering, I’m not talking about trying to pinch the jack of a car – I’m talking hijacking a slow-moving car. As a matter of fact, it all came very easily and naturally to me, as I will explain…

You see, we have finished our shopping at the Lidl store at Newton Abbot; the shopping is in the car and I have just brought our trolley back and retrieved our pound coin; I’m standing by the trolleys and looking at the car park, in particular, I’m looking for our car because Chris usually brings the car around, as close as possible to the trolley station, in order to save time (he has a bit of a thing about saving time). The car park is rather busy and I see a red car pulling out of a space; Chris is coming along in our new navy blue car and has to slow down while the red car completes his reverse turn.

In tune with Chris’s phobia about time-wasting, I begin to walk to the car (in the hope of gaining ten seconds that might be better spent in the car park of our next port of call). Ah, he can see me and puts on a little spurt in order to beat the red car to the exit. I am looking at both cars ahead and there is very little space between them – not enough room for me to open the front passenger door without hitting the side of the red car – but that’s okay because our car wins the race for the exit and advances a short distance before stopping to let me open the door. It is what I expected – what we always do – and, like a relay runner urging to grab the baton, I am surging forward to grab the door handle. My hand finds the cold chrome and pulls it in an outward motion. Our car leaps forward in a short sharp jerk, not enough to wrench my hand off, but sufficient to cause my hand to withdraw with surprise. The car lurches forward in a strange side-winder movement, pauses for a moment to show me the insignia (four silver circles linked together in a row) on his tail, then he zooms off.

“Ah,” I think to myself and laugh.

Still laughing, I walk around the car park and find our new navy blue Renault in the spot where I had left it.

It’s true that all cars look very much the same to me, unless they are a Mercedes, Rolls Royce or something of a very obvious style; though, of course, I can recognise the different colours and sizes. Once, a couple of years ago when I was in Australia and driving a red Toyota Corolla, my key actually opened the door of an identical, but younger, red Corolla – I had wondered why the key was so difficult to turn. Don’t worry, I didn’t steal the car; it wasn’t the beginnings of an exciting life of committing car crimes (honestly, Your Honour!).

In my defence, here are some photographs of identical black cars…