'Er... Possums. Yes, yes, that'll do.'

You know when you are standing on a train platform and as the train approaches you are suddenly filled with a burning desire to push the person next to you onto the tracks?...

What is up with that?

Oh... Just me huh? Hmmm...

Anyway, now that I've got your attention, I want to tell a little story. I suppose this one goes out to anyone who is in the middle of trying to hold together a lie (be it of the white, or perhaps more serious variety). Perhaps this will engender/embiggen some confidence in you- that even when your opponent discovers what they may consider a silver-bullet, exposing your wrongdoing, if you think on your feet, THE JIG IS NOT UP!

I used to work at a car rental company. After monotonously detailing 21 seat party buses during my Sunday shift (the floor stickier than a shoddy Hawthorn nightclub, the air contaminated by the aroma of the "giving back" by uni first years of what they took from the open bar) you tended to experience a feeling of euphoria when the boss called time.

As I walked back to my car, with a feeling of "if I can get a melted Chuppa-Chup stain out of the front passenger seat head-rest, I can do anything", I decided to let my feeling of greatness manifest itself.

The only prop I needed was my car.

I slowly built my walk into a jog, then a sprint. I have seen folk do this on the TV all the time, so how hard could it be? As I approached the front left of my car, I jumped forward, planting my rear on the bonnet and proceeding to slide majestically across to the right front of the car. Then swinging my legs from left to right, I dismounted just in front of the driver's door.

Oh man, what brilliance, what grace!

But then the demon angel of Karma reared her head. I looked back from whence I came. My very hip and with-it black cargo shorts had left an almighty black stain, about 3cm in width and 30cm in length over what is, for the most part, a Cherry-Ripe red Corolla.

Oh, and in the interests of full disclosure, it was not strictly speaking my car but my Dad's car. Oh dear.

He may not notice for a while, but he'll expose me for my doings eventually. You see, like the setting of the sun, like the annual paying of tax to the government to spend on shiny plaques, junkets and Art History course funding, like the inevitable playing of Green Day's Time of Your Life at a year 12 break up, it was going to happen.

But then, using my world renowned ("world" meaning my bedroom) thinking-on-my-feet-ness, I hatched a plan. All it required was the parking of my car about 5m further down the driveway, under a large tree.

When father discovered the mark and took me out to the car to look at it, all it required was a puzzled look, mixed with the stroke of the chin, a look up from the car to the tree...

I do feel some remorse for making free-falling Possums the scapegoat for my poorly executed, euphoria-fueled attempt at being a 1970's TV cop. But at least I have learned from my mistake..

Next time, lubricate the bonnet and don your old wetsuit.

Slide on, folks!... Slide on.