‘Hard day, love? Wendy Endcliffe asked her husband Brian, DC Brian Endcliffe, kissing him on the cheek. It was gone 7.30 by the time he got home, wet, hungry, tired and weary after a long and frustrating day.
His frustrations had been exacerbated when he was unable to find a parking spot within a hundred yards of his house. The rain had been lashing down and although he had a raincoat, he had forgotten to put his umbrella in the boot of the green Ford Focus and was soaked by the time he arrived home.
When his house on Adelaide Street, an Edwardian mid-terrace, had been built just prior to WW1, the idea that occupants of those houses might one day all have cars, or even more than one car was a distant fantasy and no provision had been given for garages or off street parking. So, although
