Condoms on the car park

I was walking across the car park (24 hours surveillance has now been dropped - orders of Amanda) and I noticed a used condom. And these lines came back to me:

The sordid limpness of a used French-letter -
I had to use one 'til I knew you better...
(Anon)

Actually, this one must have been used a few days ago: it had been driven over by many car tyres and was not so much limp as dried out in the dust; like a flower pressed between the pages of a book: poignant, beautiful in its own way.
And I got to thinking, who might have used this once sleek sheath of pleasure. Who was on the inside, who was on the outside? What deep and abiding love was consummated here. Or was it sudden uncontrollable lust that was satisfied here on this grey expanse of tarmac? Well, I don’t suppose it was on the tarmac itself; although knowing some of the staff here, it would not surprise me. Oh yes! It was the STAFF car park!

But what concerned me most was the problem of litter. You'd have thought whoever it was might have taken it home with them. Nowadays you get fined for letting your dog's shit foul public places so why shouldn't a fine be imposed on those who leave their own bodily fluids fouling car parks?
I am going to put a suggestion in the hospital suggestion-box to the effect that a notice should be posted at the entrance to the car park:

"You are welcome to shag on this car park - provided you have ‘paid and displayed’ - but please take your litter home with you. A fine of £50 will be imposed on all those leaving used condoms, semen-stained Kleenex, articles of clothing or other evidence of sexual activity on the car park.
A special bin will be provided, clearly labelled ‘Sexual Detritus’ and painted green to distinguish it from the normal black waste bins.”

I jotted a few notes down in the margins of the ‘Daily Telegraph’ I was carrying and continued my stroll.
But something from the events of last night kept nibbling at the edge of my consciousness. I pulled from my jacket pocket the piece of paper Amanda had given me. Yes, there was another address, right at the bottom. It had been scribbled out and I had to peer closely but – Yes, I thought it looked familiar: www.brokeneenglish.blogspot.com. - The princess of darkness herself!
Why would my psychiatrist have a note of my wife’s blog?
The icy fingers of paranoia grope my entrails.