No tools are left in my van overnight and I have a sticker that backs that up. 

I’d actually bought the sticker as a bluff as there used to be a whole shed load of tools in there every night, but, as I had no shed, the sticker seemed a cheaper option than building one. 

To be honest, even if I had the shed, I wouldn’t have fancied lugging all of those tools out of the van, through my house and into it; who needs the hassle of loading back up in the morning too? 

As it turns out, the shed would have been the better option, as I was greeted today with an addendum, scraped with a finger in the grime on the van door, that struck out the “overnight” on the sticker and offered “now!” as the more accurate alternative.  I had been burgled and edited; wronged and corrected. 

To add insult to injury, when I opened fully, the rear doors that had been left ajar, I noticed that someone had placed a small Fischer Price toolbox next inside the van, right next to the bearded homeless guy who had also apparently taken up residence for the night.  

‘There’s no tools in ‘ere.’ he grunted, before I could speak. ”guy who owns this vans takes ‘em out overnight’. He held up the child’s toolbox and shook it for emphasis; what I now know with certainty to be urine spilled out into the van.  ”nice of him to leave me this though,’ he said. ‘The bloke asked me to give him a hand shifting the tools to his other van and told me I could kip in here if I did.  Do you mind?’. 

‘I most certainly do!’  I said, before realising he was entreating privacy, gesturing at the doors as he pulled at the string that held up his stained trousers.  

He positioned the toolbox down behind him while maneuvering to squat above it, and for an awful moment, we locked eyes as he smiled gratefully, gave a thumbs up and leaned to pull the doors closed.  His fixed, yellowed grin seemed to hang in the gloom before micro shifting subtly,  to convey a desperate, teeth-grinding strain, until the doors mercifully, severed our connection. 

“Clunk”.  

Then Silence. 

Then an eruption of gas and spatter from between what must have been particularly stubborn clots, and I was forced back, like a naked child from a house fire that had claimed both his parents and his teddy. 

So that’s my day so far. And that, Mr Armitage, is why I am late in coming over to do the tip run you requested yesterday.  I’m currently in the house waiting for the homeless man to vacate and air the van but will be with you once he has moved on. 

I must apologise to my other customers today, also.  There may be a slight delay before we regain regular service, just like my new tenant’s bowels.