This is my favourite story of the day. A dude goes into a record shop, at which he is a regular customer, puts a Pink Floyd album on order, gives his name and phone number, and then swipes money from the register with 4 cameras watching him. I love that I can rely on such people to bring a grin to an evening that also brought a southerly change (and therefore serious coldness again).
Brings back memories of stupidities past. 4 guys went into Ingleburn Bowling Club many moons ago, back when my Dad was still alive and frequented said establishment. You have to sign into a club, but they were canny and signed in with false names. They held up the bar and took about $500 (from memory). When the police arrived they checked the sign-in book, you know, just in case. Scanning down the names our brilliant boys in blue were not, in fact, fooled by Jimi Hendrix's signature. Furthermore, they recognised Jimi's address as that belonging to a fellow "known to police". When they arrived at that address, the 4 lads were at the kitchen table counting the money.