So, very early this morning, before I was even up (which doesn’t mean that much for I have been a right lazybones of late) Mr B took our poorly car to the garage to get it fixed.
He returned with what he described, dismissively, as a “bump in the road” – a strange-looking grey Hyundai which was ours to use while our own car was undergoing surgery. It
sat in our drive all day, like a small, neat elephant, until it was time to retrieve our own car – I have the distinct impression that Mr B didn’t want to be seen driving out in it, if he could help it. Fortunately I didn’t have
time to get fond of it, sitting out there. I didn’t even have the opportunity to sit inside it, or go for a quick trip in it, or test out how much leg-room there was inside. For all I know it might have been like the Tardis inside...
I am extremely fond of our car, which is almost exactly 10 years old. The only thing it lacks, in my considered opinion, is a holder for a coffee cup. Though this may be an intentional safety feature, of
course, to prevent drinking and driving? After ten years we have come to know and trust in its ability to take us hither and thither in ease and comfort. It was a shock to the system, therefore, when yesterday it started struggling up hills which it
would normally ascend with effortless grace. It was clear that Something Was Very Wrong.
As always, it could not have been worse timing as on Saturday we
are off for a weekend with my lovely Little Sis and her man. There was no way our poorly car would make it all the way to Southbourne and back.
it when things go wrong. The day before yesterday it was the microwave which started making mewling noises instead of its normal brisk hum – and then completely failed to turn my Oats-So-Simple into a smooth porridge. I had to resort to Weetabix
with cold milk. I reported the matter to Mr B (my very own Mr Fix-It) who refused to believe me until he had tried it out for himself with his own porridge – which then cooked perfectly! I didn’t know whether to be cross that I’d been
proved wrong or pleased that this important kitchen appliance was still in working order.
My worst nightmare, in terms of Things Going Wrong, is undoubtedly the
washing machine. To be fair, it’s nowhere near as nightmarish these days, with only Mr B and I to wash for. But when Our Foursome were littl’uns and the washing machine was on duty every day without fail, I dreaded problems on the Washing
Front. Which almost always seemed to happen either the day before we set off on holiday or on the day we returned. I can’t begin to decide which is the worse of the two.
The thing is, did you know that washing machines have brains? Nor did I till the day ours went wrong and I had to call in the Repair Man.
brain’s gorn,” he told me. At least he had the grace to look sorry about it. I told him, testily, that there was nothing at all wrong with my brain, thank you very much.
“It’s gorn,” he offered, by way of explanation, “Your brain...” And he nodded towards the washing machine, from which a number of wires were sprouting like untidy weeds. “Oh, my BRAIN!” I said, weakly,
taking the path of least resistance.
But, here’s a thought. Once whatever’s gone wrong has been put right – doesn’t it feel good?
Mr B has just returned - plus our car, all mended with three new ignition coils (whatever they might be) and minus £200. He says that, despite being somewhat
lighter in the pocket, he is perfectly happy on account of the fact that he will not have to drive the Small Elephant down to Southbourne tomorrow.
if he’s happy, I’m happy...