Sometimes you really do just need to feel alive. When you spend all day dealing with toddlers afflicted by the snuffles and suspicious looking rashes you begin to get a little stir crazy. Hours are spent staring contemplatively out of windows (when you possibly ought to be reading the latest medical textbooks but hey, nobody’s perfect) getting closer and closer to the breaking point.
So rather than crumbling into dust or going on some ill advised spree (shopping, better hope that shopping is their go to in this scenario) something else has to be done. A victimless crime to get the juices flowing and bubbling away. Then you can return to dodgy moles and a whole host of aches and pains with a far better grace.
Cars. Everyone’s got one (apart from me. I’m waiting for those driverless cars to come through so I don’t have to bother with the whole rigmarole of learning new stuff. Obviously by the day that particular invention rolls round I’ll be a squillionaire capable of hiring my own chaffeur but never mind). At least one. So they’ll never bother if one goes unexpectedly missing.
Refined educated doctors. Clearly the very best contenders for joyriding. They learned an eminently simple key fob hack for breaking into cars (click here for an ultimately disappointing article vaguely related to the previous statement). From this point there was absolutely no stopping them.
I am an entirely inadequate writer when it comes to describing the unbridled joy of racing around in a car that doesn’t belong to you. Maybe you smash it up a bit, perhaps you earn yourself some illicit speeding tickets. It doesn’t altogether matter because there really are no consequences. Tomorrow’s another day to spend in clinic umming and aahing over infected nail beds and teenagers asking about contraception.