Can you believe that labour and VAT costs more than the price of a new starter motor? Nope, me neither, but I think I'll knock this writing lark on the head and train to be a mechanic...
With shocked, shaky fingers, I parted with the dosh and went to retrieve the car. Hmm, I thought, that windscreen wiper looks askew, I'll just take a closer look...and it came away in my hand.
Sigh.
I made it home without incident: no near collisions, no getting stuck, and no bits dropping off and bouncing round the countryside. The future was looking bright.
Until I rang the Ford garage in search of the radio key-code: "Yes, Madam, we can supply that information - for a small fee..."
Well, I'm sorry, but I think three minutes spent on a computer looking up a four digit code should be part of customer services and I bloody well refuse to pay for it! I shall be radio-less by principle, and just sing badly instead. After all, look what happened last time I listened to Radio One in the car: the friggin' exhaust fell off!
It's my fault of course; I've got a jinx hanging around my neck like a diamond-studded necklace. Now can you see why I'm single: after an hour with me I'd kill your engines and your bits'd be dropping off in my hands...
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