The view outside the police station at Quillan, where I had to go to get the letter for the bank that establishes a bonna fides theft, as it were. It was difficult to get into... a gate and intercom before they let you in, followed by an interview with a geezer on the desk which led to another with a geezer in a room. From there you can see the camera on the gate - they must have been hooting at my attempts to push it open, climb over it, tunnel round the side. So embarrassing.
After a not inconsiderable interview when my use of the bank card was quizzed and every item clocked it was agreed that whilst in Morocco I probably wasn't gambling in Paris. My passport has stamps in it proving I was out of Europe. And after the embarrassing gate episode they must have thought I was too stupid for that level of crime; with reason.
All the entries that could not have been made by me were slowly itemised, dated, sourced - I was getting bored until the bloke explained that no longer was I 'The Victim' but this letter showed the bank was in fact The Victim. Wow. Poor bank.
Kat and I took coffee at the square and I photographed Shuffs house for him. Voila! The blossom is out!
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