Yeah, well my husband used to get quite upset. Being an engineer, he has a bond with his personal transport that I find hard to understand. For me, cars have only a very little more emotional appeal than washing machines - and believe me, I don't hang around our kitchen stroking our front-loader
He's more resigned now. I guess it might have made him white-haired - but fortunately he doesn't have any hair any more, so that's that one solved, heh. We buy second-hand cars now, and ignore any damage that isn't a safety issue. Works for us
The most minor incident simply involved kicking off the wing mirrors - though since they are the electrically-heated kind, that's nearly a couple of hundred squid per go. Which actually did annoy me, because it had to be fixed for safety reasons. The wine budget suffered over that period, I can tell you. Bah!
The "worst" one was when a group of brain-damaged Neanderthals decided that the quickest route home was over the top of the car, rather than on the pavement. Yes, these heavy-booted intellectually-stunted morons actually jumped onto the boot and then jumped, boing boing, across the roof and along the bonnet. Wot a laugh, eh?
Actually, without a doubt the very worst one was when my son was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got jumped by another bunch of inebriated idiots looking for cheap laughs. His friend (who, astonishingly, went to try to help him) was knocked down and battered a bit but James lost his front tooth and needed large quantities of stitches in his mouth. For some reason, James has now moved to St Albans - the town where I grew up and which seems to have retained at least a veneer of civilisation
I worked in Hemel Hempstead for many years and know it quite well. When I last knew it, it was heading downwards fast ...
Bring back the birch, that's wot I say! And hanging. Birching and hanging. Then drawing and quartering. That'll teach 'em
