A car crash and its consequences

It was a quiet afternoon. "Was" being the key word. It had been a quiet afternoon until ten minutes ago, when the whole neighborhood had heard an astonishingly loud crash, preceded by several almost equally loud thuds and bangs.

The old man took a step back from the sports car, now embedded in his conservatory window, and turned around. He was a mature gentleman, with what would have normally been a cheery face, now puckered into a frown atwixt his well-groomed beard and mustache. [Let me interject here. The description here is a little too flattering, to my mind. He looks to me more as if a warthog had miraculously learnt how to stand on its hind legs, and donned a plastic beard.] The occupant of the car was obviously deceased, having collided with a fence and two trees on their way into his conservatory. The elderly gentleman [Correction, ugly warthog.] walked slowly back inside, picked up his telephone, and dialed the emergency hotline. Having notified the police and the fire brigade, he hung up again and went back outside.

As he considered the damage to his conservatory, he pondered upon the recklessness of youth that had lead this unfortunate to crash into his house. Though he could remember his younger days, he doubted he would have ever done something so risky and ridiculously out of control. [I interject again. As well being ugly, this fellow is definitely a hypocrite. I'm quite sure he would have ridden his diplodocus full-tilt into a bank, given half a chance.] The damage would have to be repaired, or it would cause a nasty draft inside. [Hah! Yes, let it freeze his ugly toes, and make them drop off!] However he doubted that the glazier would be very disposed to drop everything and fix it today, especially by the time the police were done with their chin-wagging and the car was removed by the tow company.

Despite his calm pretense, the gentleman [I object once again. The "anthropomorphic warthog" would be more appropriate.] was rather disturbed by the whole ordeal. If this was the state of the world, then what was stopping another crazed youth recklessly crashing another expensive automobile into his conservatory tomorrow afternoon. And right at siesta time too, people were so inconsiderate. As he pondered these things, he headed back inside to his typewriter.

Ernest, for that was the gentleman's name, had just the previous afternoon begun writing his memoirs. [Excuse me a minute, this is preposterous! He's stolen my name! This is unprecedented absurdity! The dirty skiving thief!] Despite this highly inconvenient interruption, he was determined to continue.

[Thud!]

[Bang!]

[Bang!]

[CRASH!!]

[If you will excuse me again, something urgent has come to my attention. I will have to briefly absent myself, and will continue to narrate the story about this repulsive, thieving warthog, as is my allotted duty, when I return.]

[What in a thousand tarnations has happened to my conservatory??!!]