About 25 years ago I was visiting my parents in the small village where they lived in Northern Ireland. Both were retired, my father as a sparks in the merchant navy. My mother as a head librarian. Their lives consisted of reading books and newspapers and playing bowls. They had a small car which they needed for shopping and getting to their bowls, a very modest affair which they kept for years. They had just recently traded in for a new car. They told me they had recently been surprised by a visit from the police. Their old car had been used in a crime and the police thought they were the owners. Fortunately my parents were thorough with their paperwork and were able to demonstrate that they had sold the car, perfectly legally, through a garage. I agreed with them it was odd and thought nothing more of it.
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