On Saturday, me and Lana were off to the Blue Mountains for New Years. Lana's already gone to the car, and I'm walking out the front door of the apartment building with my bag. Two cops walking up the front pavement. I hold the door open for them and say g'day. One of them goes, "Is apartment 15 in here?". I respond, "Number 27? Yep". Then I walk away. 3 seconds later, I remember that's my apartment. Do I turn around and go back? Nope, I hightail it to the car, jump in, proceed to tell Lana the cops are after me and to drive. About 15 minutes later, I then start to think, why the hell are the cops visiting for. Then I think there's 2 of us in the apartment, why would they necessarily be after me? I then spend the rest of the trip to the blue mountains plus the next couple of hours worrying about this. (And giving Lana a headache). Then I thought maybe someone had died and they were coming over to give us that news. Which prompted a flurry of mobile phone calls (okay, actually Lana called up her Mum, but that was it. I was too cheap to spring for a call to Brisbane on the mobile). In this situation you start to magnify all past indiscretions. Did the bloke I yelled at last week have a heart attack? Was my fang down the RNP on Wednesday a little too spirited? And so on. Calmed down after having a few drinks on sat night. Get back to the apartment on Monday around 12. There's a little note under the door. "Please contact Senior Constable such and such at this number. It's about an accident". What accident? Now I'm worried that maybe I caused an accident and didn't notice. Call up the cop shop, the Senior Constable isn't on duty until 7. Great, 6 more hours to stress about it. Finally call him up. Heart racing. It's about the accident I had on the Harbour Bridge, 6 frigging months ago. Because I checked myself into hospital and they took blood, they have to take a statement and file a police report. Told him what happened, said all fine. I do have to do a statement though, and he'll come over this Saturday to do that. Yes, I know if I stuck around on Saturday I could have sorted it all out. And yes I know running from the police is probably the sign of a guilty conscience, and I've been a very good boy for the last decade or so, but bugger it, if the cops showed up unannounced again tomorrow, I'd probably still do the Harold Holt.