Goodness! There’s so much to tell! I may have to write a series of mini posts today instead of one great, burbling long one.
Is that okay? Or is that cheating?
Hey! It’s my blog! Who cares!
Okay, first up – news on the Knackered Car Recovery story:
On Monday it was fixed – a new coil, distributer cap and rotary… something – arm? Blade? Clothes dryer?
Anyway, the Ex picked it up from the garage, drove to my house and asked me to drop him back to the garage so that he could collect his car. Got that? Good.
As I was driving, the engine kept spluttering and burping, bouncing us backwards and forwards so much, I stressed about who would look after Youngest son when we were both laid up with whiplash. Or concussion. Or both.
‘Umm… I don’t wanna be picky, and I know we’re making progress ‘cos we’re actually moving without the aid of a tow-rope, but are you sure they said it was fixed?’
‘Yes! The engine’s probably just cold and damp. Just give her some welly.’
(NB: ‘Give her some welly’ – a technical phrase, derived from Latin, meaning ‘Stand on the gas, baby!’)
I’ve already told you about Cornish ‘roads’, haven’t I? Think winding, pot-holed, narrow lanes. Or wide footpaths. Usually splattered with mud and stinky, sticky cow pats. And mountains of horse doop, still hot and steaming. And, quite often, a tractor will hit a hole and bump half the contents of its trailer across the road.
Go around a bend and slalom your way through seventeen cabbages, four cauliflowers, two hay bales, a gaggle of geese and one dead badger.
And give it some welly! Yeah, right!
Well, I tried but I’m really not cut out for rally driving. It was like, Rev the engine, scream the brakes, dodge the obstacle, rev the engine, bounce off headrest, lurch as car hiccups, bounce off windscreen, rev, screech, dodge, rev, bounce, hiccup, lurch, bounce, swear, rev, cuss, screech, make disparaging comments about your Ex’s ability to drive a car, shout, dodge, bounce, swear, make disparaging comments about the size of your Ex’s nose, swear some more…
‘Umm…I hate to be picky, but this car’s stinking of petrol…’
‘It’s because you’ve been revving so much. System’s got flooded.’
It was dark when we got to the garage. The Ex asked me to pull up bumper to bumper, with my lights on, so that he could fiddle with a headlight bulb on his car.
‘Trouble is, the engine’s likely to cut out, so keep the revs up.’
So there I was, revving the nuts off my car, and all the time, the smell of petrol was getting stronger.
I threw open my door, and gasped air like an old woman with a sixty-a-day habit.
‘Hurry up!’ I shouted. ‘Before I choke to death from the fumes!’
The Ex gave me a look. I just knew he was tempted to find another seven ‘urgent’ jobs.
‘If I die, you’ll have to look after the kids!’
Ha! That got him moving!
‘You’re right, Tiny. That petrol’s stinking. Pop the bonnet and I’ll take a look.’
‘Pop the what?’ I asked.
The Ex sighed, popped it himself and disappeared under that bonnet thing.
‘Oh God, turn the engine off!’ he shouted.
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘Just turn the engine off!’
‘Why? What’s the problem? And what’s that liquid stuff pissing all over the windscreen?
‘It’s petrol! Now would you turn the fucking engine off?!’
‘Okay,’ I snapped. ‘No need to swear…’