On Tuesday the Knackered Car had a new fuel pump, fuel filter and fuel-hose-connection-thingy. Not sure why; there was no bloody fuel left!
The Ex drove it to my house again and asked for a lift back to the garage.
Are we experiencing deja vu? I think so.
‘Are you absolutely certain it’s been fixed?’ I asked.
‘Are you absolutely certain it’s not still pissing petrol?’
‘Are you absolutely certain it’s safe to drive?’
‘But what if you’re wrong? What if you only think you’re certain it’s been fixed? What if I drive you back and the Knackered Car is still leaking fuel and it catches fire and explodes in this huge, spectacular, Jason Statham-style fireball? We’ll both die a grisly death and the boys will be orphans! I can’t do it! Don’t ask me! Who’d look after Youngest son if we’re both flambéed?’
‘Eldest son. He’s legally an adult now.’
‘Yes!’ I shrieked, ‘but he’s four hours away! And it’d take another ten hours to hunt down which pub he’s in! And Youngest son needs feeding! Tonight!’
‘Mum, it’s fine,’ said Youngest. ‘I’ll just eat noodles ’til he gets here.’
Well that’s okay, then…
The Ex and I set off down the garden path. Youngest called a farewell greeting from the door:
‘Die, Mum and Dad! Whoops! I meant to say Bye…’
We made it there and back without frying. You probably guessed that much since I’m obviously here and typing… I parked away from our house and other parked vehicles just in case Knackered Car decided to spontaneously combust during the night.
And yesterday, on Wednesday, I leapt inside, armed with Bon Jovi’s Greatest Hits, ready to collect Youngest from after-school-art-club and…
…the bastard thing wouldn’t start!
I give up, really!
PS And yes, it was just a sad excuse for another photo of JS! 😉