We came home, Erica and I, from a fundraiser at Te Horo one night. There was this car sitting there—or a ute, actually—helping itself to our farm tank of petrol, and suddenly property rights came blaring into my head. So I backed up—this ute was high speeding it out—and I smacked into the side of this ute—got it on two wheels, actually, did a good job. And then a high-speed pursuit followed. We were heading along out to Foxton and Erica rang 111, and they said, "Can you tell us the speed that you're doing." I said, "Erica—no, no, no, no."—no, no, no, no, no. Anyway, we were just 101 kilometres an hour, from memory. The police did the rest in Foxton. 