Car Wars

It all happened in slow motion.

I could see it in the rear view mirror, inching closer to the side of the car. Confident it would remain a safe distance from the shiny blue paintwork, I continued to edge slowly forward. Then...

SSSCCCCCRRRRREEEEAAAAGGGGGHHHHKKKKK!!!!!!!

The large concrete pillar brushed the side of the car with all the delicate touch of a drunken Mike Tyson. I had reached the point where you think: 'Will I do less damage if I keep going, or will I reverse in the hope of minimising the situation?'

I reversed back out of the parking space. I got out the car and surveyed the damage. A foot-deep, white scrape now adorned the rear passenger door. Four thoughts ran through my head.

1. I've jusy spent £150 on new (but probably unneccessary - thank you Kwik Fit) tyres and can't afford to throw more money away.

2. Will this affect my no-claims bonus?

3. There goes my new iPod I planned to buy this month.

4. If I can do this in a COMPLETELY EMPTY car park, think of the damage I could do in a full one.

My only excuse was it was 7.15 am, a Monday morning and I hadn't eaten any breakfast.

My week was ruined before it started.

Deals on Wheels

I'm not sure what happened.

I could have sworn I only went in there to replace a flat tyre. Instead, my wallet is £150 lighter. Excuse the toilet-mouthed language, but I FUCKING HATE KWIK FIT!!!

The knuckle-dragging degenerate hummed. He hawed. He scratchedd his greasy head. He growled: "You're gonna have to replace four of yer tyres mates."

Firstly, I'm not "yer mate." In fact, should we ever be stranded on a desert island together, a la Lost, you would be Sawyer to my Jack. (actually, I'd be more like that wee Hobbit fella but I digress). Not under any circumstances could we ever be regardedd as 'friends'.

Secondly, I wouldn't trust your opinion about whether the sky is blue, never mind about the state of my tyres.

Thirdly, what the hell do I know. "OK, fair enough, go ahead," I said meekly.

I may as well have walked in there, pulled my jeans down, turned around and screamed: "Go for it big boy, do your worst!" Because, metaphorically at least, that's what they've done.

I've been well and truly shafted.

workin' 9 to 5 (what a way to make a living)

Work has been mental!

All week, it's been "do this NOW!"
"But I've still to finish..."
"THAT doesn't matter, THIS is more important."

A few minutes later...

"Can you quickly do this for me? I need it within the next five minutes!"
"But you just said I had to work on..."
"Never mind what I just said, THIS is more important than THAT! And when
you've finished, I've got something else for you."
"I'll do my best but I have a meeting in half an hour..."
"Don't bother with the meeting, THIS is more important."
"Yes, but it's the meeting you set up and said was extremely important for
me to attend. You said that."
"Never mind what I said just do as I tell you."

And that's just before I leave the house.

Which is why posts have been as thin on the ground as Jade Goody's O' Levels.

fishy tales

I'm back to spending an hour every morning behind my jalopy, cursing and gesticulating wildly at BMW drivers, so forgive my foul mood.

Today, I went to the fishmongers. I was on a mission from cod (ooh, that was below the belt, sorry!)

I like the fishmongers and I prepare well for my visit, packing a cooler bag with ice packs. Well, my 'catch' has to lurk about my car boot for five hours before it finds my fridge.

I am quite conservative when it comes to buying fish. Although I love all seafood and will try almost anything, I'm a creature of habit when it come to buying our seafaring friends. Haddock, salmon, mackerel and sea bass are as adventurous as I got today.

I'm also a 'pointer' rather than a 'handler' unlike the Chinese couple who were handling every fish, closely smelling them and generally picking them up with the confidence of Captain Bird's Eye. At one point I thought they might start juggling with the squid - it wouldn't have looked out of plaice (oh, there I go again!)

A visit to the fishmongers does, however, make me feel like a proper 'foodie' - no Tesco pretend fish counter for me. I am truly a connoisseur of fine comestibles.

Anyway, less writey, more cookey, I'm making dinner tonight. It's chicken.

Regards

Rick Stein

Garden DIY

I have been doing some work in the garden.

The neighbours think my new statue is a tad OTT. I think it suits the area.

The Evil That Men Do

I did it.

I found a long-forgotten crumb of courage lurking deep inside me and did it. I told my neighbour I didn't want a lift. "Thanks, but it's a lovely morning and I'm enjoying the fresh air. I appreciate the offer, though," I said and continued on my merry way.

A weight had lifted from my broad, athletic shoulders (what??!) and I found a new spring in my step. This lasted for about thirty seconds before I began to feel like a spoiled, ungrateful, shit.

I imagined my friendly neighbour continuing her drive to work in floods of tears, feelings of rejection overwhelming her. Spurned by someone she regarded as a friend, she would never stop and offer again.

You think I'm being silly?

Yesterday morning, just as I was leaving the park and heading into the metropolis, I once again spotted my friendly neighbour approaching in her car. I noticed the rear brake lights light up as the car slowed down. "Here we go again" I thought, steeling myself for another rebuff (well it was another nice morning and I really needed the exercise - beer and takeaway food were planned).

But the car didn't stop. The brake lights fizzled away and the car disappeared into the horizon. SHE HAD SECOND THOUGHTS ABOUT STOPPING! I have ruined everything.

I am truly a BAD MAN.

Fancy a lift?

Every weekday morning I walk to the train station.

It's a walk I enjoy. Through the park, past the same friendly faces. It takes about half an hour and the extra exercise means I can occasionally eat a lump of hydrogenated snack food without too much guilt.

But... at least three mornings a week, my friendly neighbour passes in her car and stops to offer me a lift to the station. It's a kind and neighbourly offer and, so far, I've always accepted. I'm too bloody polite to tell her I don't want a lift, that I prefer my leisurely stroll, just me, the park and James Taylor on the iPod. You see, I don't want to offend her because she's really nice and I occasionally don't mind getting a lift, especially when the rain is chucking it down.

To some, a half hour walk in the near pitch-dark at 7.30am is an act of pure mentalness, but to me, it's the only time of day I get to be alone (apart from a couple of visits to the toilet but I'm not sure they count - mind you, imagine how weird it would be if SHE DID pop her head over the toilet partition wall and said: "Morning! Need any help?")

So how do I tell her that, thanks very much but I prefer to walk to the station in the morning?

Will she be offended and never offer me a lift or any other neighbourly hand of friendship ever again? Will she watch me from inside her warm car, swerving closer to the kerb to deliberately splash me with a puddle?

Or will she politely say "That's fine, any time you DO want a lift, just you let me know" and we'll both be on our way, except I'll feel like a total shit and she'll think I'm an ungrateful twat who thinks he's too good to get into my car?

I await tomorrow morning with dread.

You just don't need that kind of shit in the morning do you? (no reference to above toilet scenario intended)

Poor show

A proper post tomorrow, I promise.

No, really.

I've been very busy with lots of...erm... things.

Trust me.