John Done was not, by nature, a criminal mastermind. He was a meek village librarian with a fondness for tweed jackets, sensible shoes and a quiet pint on a Friday evening. However, as he stood outside the Crown and Thistle at eleven o\u2019clock on a frosty night, John found himself facing a monumental crisis: he had consumed three glasses of vintage port, two pints of dark ale and a suspiciously potent elderberry liqueur offered by Alexander Bertenton, a generous regular of obscure origin known to everyone simply as Al\u2019Bert.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
John was, in the local parlance, completely plastered. He leaned heavily against a lamppost, the world gently swaying like a cross-Channel liner in a mild squall. He lived barely three miles away, up a long and steep country lane. Walking in his current state would undoubtedly result in a tragic ditch-related incident, and taxis in the village were as rare as sunshine in August.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then, through the amber haze of his vision, he spotted it. Parked under the weeping willow near the green was a shiny red lawnmower. It was not just any lawnmower; it was a top-of-the-range model belonging to the parish council, left behind by the groundskeeper who had clearly popped into the pub earlier and forgotten all about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A wave of alcohol-fuelled logic washed over John. It was motorised, had four wheels, topped out at a sensible six miles per hour, and, best of all, possessed a handy cup holder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Brilliant,\u2019 John muttered to himself, clambering onto the cushioned brown leather seat with the clumsy grace of a newborn giraffe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He found the key right in the ignition. With a satisfying roar, the engine burst into life. John engaged the gear, adjusted his spectacles, wrapped his woollen scarf tightly around his neck and set off into the night at a staggering, triumphant snail\u2019s pace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The voyage down the main road was majestic until John reached the bend by the old vicarage. There, crouching behind a box hedge, were two burly men in balaclavas struggling to drag a heavy, ironbound safe into the boot of a waiting hatchback.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As John chugged around the corner at five miles per hour, headlight beaming, the thieves froze like deer caught in a spotlight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018It\u2019s the police!\u2019 one shouted, mistaking the flashing orange maintenance beacon atop the mower for a law enforcement light bar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Panicking, the two men hurled the heavy safe directly into the path of the oncoming vehicle. John, whose reflexes were delayed by several pints, tried to swerve. The mower\u2019s front blade deck clipped the safe with a loud metallic clank, unexpectedly triggering the lawnmower\u2019s automatic grass-ejection chute. With a deafening pop, the machine shot a jet of high-pressure wet grass clippings and gravel straight into the faces of the robbers, knocking them flat into the muddy ditch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Out of the way, hooligans!\u2019 John bellowed, completely unaware that he had just foiled a major museum heist, and pressed on down Oak Lane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Behind him, a set of bright blue lights suddenly flashed in his rear-view mirror, bathing the hedge in a rhythmic neon glow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
PC Herbun, the village\u2019s sole police officer on night duty, pulled up alongside the rumbling mower in his patrol car. He wound down his window and stared at John in complete disbelief.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Evening, John,\u2019 the officer said, matching the mower\u2019s brisk walking pace. \u2018Mind telling me what you\u2019re doing?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
John adjusted his posture, trying his utmost to project an air of sober authority.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Just… commuting, PC Herbun. Taking the scenic route home.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018John, you are operating parish property on a public highway while clearly intoxicated. Pull over, please.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018I can\u2019t pull over!\u2019 John shouted back above the chug of the engine. \u2018If I stop, the momentum will fade! Besides, I\u2019m technically maintaining the verges!\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
PC Herbun sighed, stepped out of his idling car and walked alongside the slow-moving mower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018John, turn the engine off before I have to arrest you for driving under the influence.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
John panicked. In a moment of sheer desperation, he pushed the throttle lever all the way forward. The lawnmower gave a heroic snort, surging forward at a breathtaking seven miles per hour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018You\u2019ll never take me alive!\u2019 John yelled, his scarf billowing behind him in the gentle breeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just as PC Herbun reached for the ignition key, the patrol car behind them suddenly lurched into gear. It turned out PC Herbun had forgotten to engage the handbrake on the steep incline. The driverless police car began rolling slowly down the hill, gathering speed directly towards the village duck pond.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018My car!\u2019 PC Herbun gasped, abandoning his pursuit of John to sprint after his runaway vehicle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
John, feeling a surge of civic duty despite his intoxication, yanked the steering wheel hard to the left to cut across the parish green and intercept the rolling car. He aimed the lawnmower squarely at the rear bumper of the police vehicle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The slow-motion collision was magnificent. The ride-on mower wedged its heavy front bumper right under the police car\u2019s tow bar. With a screech of metal, the little red machine brought the rolling saloon car to a grinding halt just inches from the water\u2019s edge, though the force of the impact launched John gracefully off his seat and into a nearby bed of prize-winning begonias.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Panting heavily, PC Herbun caught up and shone his torch down at John, who was lying flat on his back amongst the flowers, wearing a crown of shredded petals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Are you alright, John?\u2019 Herbun asked, genuinely astonished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
John blinked up at the night sky, adjusted his glasses once more and turned to the officer with dignity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018Well, Herbun,\u2019 John said smoothly, \u2018I appear to have saved the fleet. Excellent response time on your part, I must say.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before Herbun could reply, his radio crackled to life with an urgent broadcast from dispatch:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2018All units, local museum break-in reported. Two suspects found incapacitated in a ditch on Oak Lane, covered in lawn clippings, next to a stolen Victorian safe.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n PC Herbun looked from his radio to the lawnmower, then down at John.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Inside my car, John,\u2019 he sighed, shaking his head in mild disbelief as he helped the librarian to his feet. \u2018I\u2019m driving you home, making you a cup of strong tea and reporting you for heroic reckless driving in the morning.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Fair enough,\u2019 John sniffed, leaning heavily on the officer\u2019s shoulder as they walked. \u2018And for the record, officer, I was never drunk. I was merely… passionately driven.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next morning, John woke up with a pounding headache, a magnificent hangover, and a letter from the Mayor awarding him a medal for bravery, along with a modest bill for one ruined bed of begonias.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" John Done was not, by nature, a criminal mastermind. He was a meek village librarian with a fondness for tweed jackets, sensible shoes and a quiet pint on a Friday evening. However, as he stood outside the Crown and Thistle at eleven o\u2019clock on a frosty night, John found himself facing a monumental crisis: he had consumed three glasses of vintage port, two pints of dark ale and a suspiciously potent elderberry liqueur offered by Alexander Bertenton, a generous regular of obscure origin known to everyone simply as Al\u2019Bert. John was, in the local parlance, completely plastered. He leaned heavily<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":4659,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":"","_ppma_block_editor_authors":"{\"authors\":[579],\"author_categories\":{\"579\":\"1\"},\"fallback_author_user\":\"2\",\"ppma_author_box_select\":\"\",\"selected_authors\":[{\"id\":579,\"display_name\":\"Dan Costinas\",\"is_guest\":0,\"category_id\":\"1\"}]}"},"categories":[64,46,13],"tags":[630,632,631,633],"ppma_author":[579],"class_list":["post-4658","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-experimental-prose","category-fiction","category-trails","tag-begonias","tag-drink","tag-drive","tag-mower"],"aioseo_notices":[],"authors":[{"term_id":579,"user_id":3,"is_guest":0,"slug":"dan-costinas","display_name":"Dan Costinas","avatar_url":{"url":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/dc.jpg","url2x":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/dc.jpg"},"author_category":"1","first_name":"Dan","last_name":"Costinas","user_url":"","job_title":"","description":""}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4658","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4658"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4658\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4660,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4658\/revisions\/4660"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4659"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4658"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4658"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4658"},{"taxonomy":"author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/eurolit.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fppma_author&post=4658"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}