Ahh, it just warms the cockles to hear all these tales of middle class crime and lack of punishment. If Dostoevsky were alive today, I think Raskolnikov would be a serial misparker, who constantly retraced the steps of his misdemeanours, while smearing a little mud on his number plate to make his Y look like an X. Or whatever the Russian equivalent is. "Happy days," he might murmur, in a Russian accent and with a faint trace of existential angst, as the beleaguered parkie scratched his head in dismay. Merry Christmas to all and God bless us, everyone.