Car Saga: Part Four..

Yesterday, I was stranded in ASDA car park as the newly fixed car refused, once more, to start. (Yes, I know I spent far too much time in supermarkets; I keep telling the kids not to eat, but do they listen?) My local garage mechanic said, in a broad Cornish accent,

"Starter motors can be sticky for a week or two, my lover. Try it for a few more days and see how you go, bird."

Go? That's the bleddy problem; I can't go anywhere if the piggin' car won't start!

But, next morning, of course, I turned the ignition key and she vroomed into life. Just as well, because eldest son had missed the college bus and needed a lift into Truro.

The journey in was fine - quite pleasurable in fact, once I'd persuaded my eyes to fully open. Going home was slightly more problematic... yep, the engine cut out on a mini roundabout in the grounds of Truro College, and adamantly refused to start again - make no mistake: this big momma was vroomimg nowhere. It was just about nine o'clock and the place was heaving with buses, cars and delivery vans. And I was stuck on the roundabout. Marvellous.

To cut a long and tedious story short, I was rescued by a breakdown truck at around midday after spending the morning mouthing, "Sorry. Female," at approximately seventy-three male drivers as they tried to navigate their large vehicles around my voluptuous rear end. I was also cornered by the local copper, who suggested I switch on my hazard lights as a warning to other drivers. Now why didn't I think of that? I probably assumed they could already see the Ford Escort parked in the middle of the roundabout, and if not, maybe, the chaos of delivery vans and buses jamming up the exits might have given them a clue.

"Sorry," I smiled. "Female."