Wednesday, February 18, 2015

This just wouldn't happen to Catharine Zeta Jones...


Tuesday 17 February 2015
8 degrees with rain and sunny spells

To the garage with the utility vehicle to discover what the damage is going to be following the MOT.   I arrive and am ignored so employ my usual tactic of getting into one of the brand new cars and starting to press all of the buttons.  The owner appears and seems hopeful until he realises it is me and I am back with one of my selection of dodgy cars.  Ah, Senora B, he grunts.  We go over to the car and he stands by the engine and motions me to open the lid.  I struggle to find the lever and he stands in the rain and scowls.  Finally I find it and he says there is no fuel leak from the pump (phew) and it is not worth putting back on the engine cover because it is knackered.  He chucks it back at me and I put it in the boot.  I then show him the tube that is hanging down.  He says that whoever put in the new engine, put in a tube that was too long.  I remind him that it was his garage that put it in and he says no and I say yes so he says OK, bring it inside and he makes me drive it onto the ramp, without giving me a clue if I am safely on the tracks or not.  He is in such a bad mood, it makes me want to burst out laughing.  A minion comes over and they try pushing the tube back under a metal shelf and it keeps popping out like a Jack in the Box.  

I go for a coffee over the road and sit at the bar for at least ten minutes before the owner stops talking on the phone.  I attract his attention by finding the remote control for the telly which is blasting away on the wall, turning down the volume and turning off the sport.  He is over in a jiffy.  I don't give him back the remote until I leave.

I think that this wouldn't happen to Catharine Zeta Jones.  She wouldn't be sitting in the equivalent of the failures cafe on the Apprentice, gripping an oily remote control and waiting for a bad tempered and aged garagiste to fix an eleven year old car with more rattles than a maternity unit.  I don't know why Catharine Zeta Jones pops into my mind at times like this.  Perhaps because she is so poised and glam.  Then again, I wouldn't fancy her old man, not in his current state.

Back at the garage and the owner has decided that it must be that the tube has stretched. Haha.  He says he can find a second hand one and fix it so I head down town and find OH in the rental units and he sends me for bread and cakes and we have a cup of tea and I scrape paint off the windows and clean off thirty years of grime.

Back home for lunch and again to the garage where it appears that I went home with the car keys in my pocket.  I give them the keys and they rev the car for at least ten minutes and then I am free to go and so I take the dog for a walk.  Sun has made a brief appearance. Home to clean up the kitchen and living room.  Wood fire has turned the fine white curtains into an interesting butterscotch colour.  Wonder what our lungs look like.