Being a privacy enthusiast has its inconveniences. One of them is hoarding. You can become a private papers hoarder in no time, if you don't deal with things as they come. And that's a pain in the rump, either way. But did you know that dealing with your private papers could involve a car chase and a case of déjà vu so ridiculous that it could only possibly be true?

Welcome to me. Circa... some time ago.
I'd been getting lazy, and my filing cabinet was starting to bulge. It was time to deal with what Burtmom calls "the splicing". I tried to explain it, but she gets stuck in her ways. It's a time-consuming process, where you cut every barcode, reference number, name, address, balance, and anything else that might be private, out of your letters. If you've just receive one, that's not too big a deal, is it? If you've been hoarding them for years, because there would be a better time to deal with them, it's a bit of an ask.

There is a better solution, though. Death by fire.
Just dump the whole bag on the grass and light that mother up!
An astounding suggestion, I think you'll agree, but with one minor drawback.
You live in a block and setting fire to the communal lawn is guaranteed to trigger the lunatic downstairs into one of her "episodes".
The last time that happened, the monkey had to be sedated and missus Loonipants was carried away on a rack. It wasn't pretty.

Ah! But there's a place I can go...

This is how it always starts. A hair-brained scheme to achieve a simple task by complicating it beyond reasonable need, usually by adding elements that require the cover of night and a means of quick getaway. Naturally, this is the path I chose for the task of paper disposal.

A few miles from my house was a big lake. Next to the lake, a gravel car park that was usually empty.
I'd take my giant bag of papers to the lake, set em ablaze, and use the lake to put out the fire. I'd be home before my tea got cold.

Chuffed about my exceptional ability to think outside the box, I began packing a decade's worth of sensitive paperwork into a trash bags, scooped up my van keys and set off into the night. I knew there wouldn't be anyone around, because the place is practically deserted by day, and with the gift shop closed at five, there'd be no purpose, whatsoever, for anyone to bother with the place at night.

That's Odd

I sat. Five minutes. Maybe more.
He sat. Lights on. Staring into my van. Just staring.

To be honest, I wasn't the ninja I've since become, and I didn't fancy getting out until these dudes had cleared off. But they wouldn't leave, and they didn't appear to be doing anything. It was beyond me.

After what seemed like an hour, I gave up waiting and decided to have a look at the map, in case I could locate another spot to burn my papers. I switched on the map light and pulled out my map. And as I did, the shady character climbed out of his BMW and began to approach. In the dark, it was impossible to figure out why, and I wasn't about to wait it out.

I slammed the van into gear and headed for the exit.

Just a few seconds later, the car came out behind me. I was trying not to freak out, but I still did, and I began going through the possibilities - maybe he thinks I saw a drug deal and wants to shut me up - maybe he wants to steal my van - maybe he's just crazy and wants to kill me...

My old van was no match for the Beemer, so I decided to test the possibility of simple coincidence. Maybe he was just leaving at the same time as me. I'll pull over and let him pass. Then I can go back and deal with my papers. That tea might still be ok.

I pulled in and checked the mirror. He pulled in right behind me and got out. This was definitely not going my way.

Not keen on any of the imagined scenarios - and realizing that one of them might be true - I did my best to get out of there, and head back to the lit areas, where witnesses may be available. Of course, the Beemer followed me, again. But he didn't overtake. He just tailed me. For a mile. For two miles. For eighteen miles.

All the way to the highway, and most of the way to the coast. I must have triggered a psychopath in some way, and now I was either going to spend the rest of the night on highways, trying to lose him, or I was going to be the next thing they found in a ditch.

But Wait!

Checking my mirrors all the way home, I was finally free of the threat, and I pulled into my familiar street and made a quick dash to the security door. It was at times like this that I really appreciated living on the second floor.

Some time later, I told this story to Burtdad, who, quite to my bemusement, found it totally hilarious. When I asked him what was funny about this obviously scary situation, he began explaining to me something I had never heard of. It's called "Dogging", and apparently, it had nothing to do with dogs and everything to do with car parks and map lights. Go look it up.

And Then This

While enjoying the ridiculousness of it, we noticed a gentleman parked up a little way from us. I had seen him a little while earlier, but not really registered it. Now, he was clearly standing behind his van, poking his head around the side, and watching us. This, we both found rather unnerving. It was a good excuse to head out and find something to eat. My friend pulled out her map and flicked on the map light, to study it.

As she did, the gentleman behind the van took his cue, and headed over to say hello.

And even as I had just told the story, I hadn't realized we were reliving it in real time.
#OnlyBurtman