Crime gets maxed out.

Byline: Richard Irvine

WHY are my sunglasses on the car floor? Who's moved my map from the back seat? Who's left that empty bag of crisps in the passenger foot-well? Thinking about it, the crisps are mine but I definitely haven't touched the map. And I haven't seen my wallet since last night, when I forget to take it out of the glove box.

Weird, it's almost like someone has got in my car, messed everything up and stolen my wallet.

And my iPod. I left that in the glove box, too. How strange, it's not there either - but I locked the car ... didn't I? Maybe it's time to panic and give thanks I've got this far in life with such monumental oversights.

In my defence, I got home late at night after a bike ride, had to unload the car, and I've lived here three years without any kind of criminal contact.

Back to the problem, without my wallet, how am I going to pay for my morning bacon bap? Time to make an inventory, I'll call Victoria and see what she knows.

"I think my car's been broken into," I say. "Have they smashed a window? How did they get in?" she asks.

"Listen, don't worry about that now," I say, realising that having your wallet stolen from your unlocked car is akin to being mugged by a three-year-old.

"I don't understand, how did they get in?" she says.

"Listen, I haven't got time to answer all these questions, I've got to find my wallet, I need to eat you know," I say, hoping to end the "how did they get in?" discussion.

Time to phone the bank and cancel my cards. I can only hope she doesn't ask "how did they get in?", in her line of questioning.

After a security questionnaire so rigorous I feel as if my privacy has been horribly invaded, I finally get to tell the woman my cards had been stolen.

"Have they tried to use them?" I ask.

"Yes, they've attempted to use the credit card at a garage on Aigburth Road but it was declined," she says.

"Good work, how did you work that one out so quick?" I say, perplexed by their speed of detection.

"It says here, that it was declined due to insufficient funds in the account," she says.

"Aaaaahh, of course," I say, trying to maintain my fury at the injustice of it all.

"Did they have the pin number?" she says.

"No, no, noooooo, I don't mean to be rude but I haven't got time for this, " I say, realising that I'd left the letter with the pin number on it from the bank in my car glove box.

Again in my defence, the card has been essentially a worthless piece of plastic since my new bathroom purchase, so I didn't feel the need to destroy the pin number.

Unusually, despite being the victim, I now feel slightly embarrassed that my financial situation has been laid bare to petty thieves.

I can almost imagine them standing around in their black tracksuits, saying: "What a deadbeat, he's got nothing on this card, honestly, some people just can't manage their money at all."

But I have to leave the last word to Jane at work, who upon hearing my tale of woe, and my defence that we didn't always lock our cars where I grew up, and nor should we have to, exclaimed: "You big yokel, you're in the city now, take the straw out your mouth, we lock our cars here."

Brilliant, thanks for the support, Jane.