Younger Son's car is due for an MOT. It was booked in for Saturday but he didn't get there on time so they couldn't do it. He booked it in again for today. Younger Son is in work so guess who had to take it? Yip, that's right, me.
I got ready and was just about to leave when Husband says, 'You'd better pump up the tyres first.'
I grind my teeth and head off to the petrol station. I have never driven YS's car before and when I stop I can't work out how to get the key out of the ignition. I leave the driver door open - in case it locks me out - while I pump up the tyres. I do three but the fourth will only let air out not in. I give up and drive, with one slightly deflated tyre, across town in a rush to get to the garage in time for the appointment.
As I drive I notice a little orange light on the dashboard. I don't know what it means but I am fairly sure it is not a good sign. Although not as bad as a red light.
YS is already in my bad books. He drank all the milk meaning I had to go out BEFORE breakfast to buy some in order to have my cereal. He is 22; he should know by now that making me wait for my breakfast is not likely to get me on his side.
His car fails but not for either the tyre or the orange light. The mechanic tells me what the problem is but he is underneath the car while he is talking. I'm not sure but I think it is something to do with the sea.
in between garage visiting I have been writing about cocktail party themes. Now I can't decide whether to opt for the sophisticated black tie affair or the gaudy fake-palm-tree beach do. Both have their good points.