Way back when I was a teenager, I had a Sunday paper round.
It was a bit of an odd arrangement - me and a mate got our papers directly from the wholesaler and flogged them at the retail price, without an additional delivery charge. Not particularly essential to the plot, but the result of this was that our customers paid US directly, rather than a shop.

As we were out and about early on a Sunday, many customers chose to leave the money on their doorstep rather than slouch out of their beds to pay us.

One week I noticed that almost all of my regular payers hadn't left money on their steps. Very odd.

I came home almost with nothing. So did my mate. Someone had obviously been round ahead of us and half-inched our dosh. But how could we prove this? Well perhaps the MASSIVE FUCKING FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW ACROSS EVERY FUCKING GARDEN may have given the game away.

The police were called. The miscreants were apprehended. The money was returned in full.

Of all the fucking weeks to do it, why do it when a thick covering of snow gave away the whole thing? Fucking hell. What a pair of thick bastards.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Wed 21 Sep 2016, 12:26, 1 reply)

Some little Jimmy Cartwright did exactly that with my housemates bike, he just followed the tracks back to the estate.

( Slippery Mick ‏, Thu 22 Sep 2016, 22:53, closed)

No wonder prison is full of thickos. All the clever ones are still on the loose.

(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Mon 26 Sep 2016, 10:40, closed)