Mr Blue Sky is playing up. Big time.
He is protesting, I know, at my unforgivable neglect of him in recent weeks by taking
the only form of Industrial Action open to him. In short, he is refusing to start.
Mr Blue Sky, regular readers may (or may not) recall, is the somewhat fanciful
name I gave to our Renault Kangoo, which has been specially adapted (though not by Yours Truly) to allow me to transport Mr B plus his trusty mobility scooter on exciting outings. Or, even, unexciting but necessary outings to hospital appointments and the
like. I am quite the expert (though I say so myself as shouldn't) at driving the scooter on and off the van via an electric ramp which lowers and raises itself ever so slowly for this purpose. Patience is needed at this point in the Loading Operation but provided
I have allowed myself plenty of time to get wherever we are going, it's not a problem.
Unfortunately in recent weeks we haven't been taking any trips out - either
of the exciting or the mundane variety - and I have failed to acknowledge that Mr Blue Sky might be feeling neglected. I am ashamed to say that I can't even remember the last time I so much as turned the key in the ignition.
Today I had booked him in for his MOT. I had found a local garage which specialises in such matters and taken a quick trip (in my other car) to check out the whereabouts of said garage and (most importantly
for me, the Worst Parker In The World) the parking arrangements. All, I was delighted to report to Mr B, was eminently satisfactory.
Then this afternoon, as I
prepared to drive to my MOT appointment with the garage, Mr Blue Sky revolted. Lights flashed on the dashboard in an alarming fashion but he was just putting on a show of strength. Not a spark of life. I returned to the house to relay the bad news to Mr B.
Not that there was anything he could do about it, you understand, but I always like to think that a problem shared is a problem halved.
Mr B ranted and raved
about the Unfairness of Life, before it occurred to him that this was undoubtedly All My Fault - which, unaccountably (except to Mr B) made him feel a whole lot better. I rang the helpful fella at Fish Breakdown (don't even ask!) who didn't attribute blame
to anyone but said a Knight in Shining Armour would be with me, if not shortly, then in due course. Whatever due course might mean. The equally helpful fella in the MOT garage said he might be able to fit me (or, more accurately, my car) in a bit later, depending
on the time it took to get Mr Blue Sky started and out on the road.
My K in SA, when he finally turned up, did say it was my fault that Mr Blue Sky's battery was
flat - but he said it in a sweetly understanding, non-condemnatory way. He produced his Power Pack from his breakdown vehicle and had Mr Blue Sky purring nicely in no time at all. The world is full, I have decided, of unsung heroes who enjoy nothing more than
sorting out problems caused by other people's forgetfulness / neglect / ignorance / or all three. They know, I suppose, that their jobs depend on people like me but that's no reason not to salute them for their generosity of spirit and their Power Packs.
We made it, just in time, to the MOT garage where I left Mr Blue Sky to the tender ministrations of the garage mechanic while I
took myself off to The Happy Teapot to enjoy a cup of coffee whiie awaiting any news.
Mr Blue Sky passed his MOT exam with flying colours. I am extremely proud
of him though I am still a little concerned whether he will still be bearing a grudge next time I try to start him up. I was going to give him a bit of a run around to charge up the battery properly but he seemed to be running a bit short of petrol and I couldn't
face the thought of filling up and then being unable to get him off the garage forecourt - so I just drove home and left the engine running in the driveway for a bit.
Am I burying my head in the sand like an ostrich? Am I pretending everything will be fine when it might - just might - not be so? Am I, like good old Nelson, turning a blind eye?
Do you know, I think I'll worry about it tomorrow...