With apologies to any blonde friends.
Betty had a flat tyre. Husband pumped it up and I was dispatched to the tyre repair shop this morning. As I'm driving there I start to feel her rolling as she did when I first noticed the tyre was flat. I carry on driving but realise that I am leaning away from the poorly tyre - as if to compensate and relieve the load on it. See what I mean about being blonde?
Anyway first tyre shop doesn't have the right size; in the second tyre shop they say can do it in 30 minutes or so. So I leave Betty there and go to the Post Office to have my passport renewal form checked. I am rejected because my fringe is too long; Husband is rejected because his eyebrows are too high.
I go back to the tyre shop. They haven't started so I settle down to read a trashy mag. Tyre man comes in and say, 'Do you have the bolt?'
He can tell from my face that despite my red-brown hair I am really blonde. 'Come and see,' he says.
The wheel should be held on by 4 bolts; there are only 3 in place. He will not change the wheel because if he sent me out with 3 bolts and I had an accident I could sue him. 'Can you replace the bolt?' I ask already knowing the answer.
'No. You'll need to get one from a VW supplier. But once you've got that it will be a quick job as it's the valve not the tyre that's gone,' he says. 'Listen,' and he wiggles the valve. 'Hear it?'
'Yes,' I lie.
I give up, go home and will leave Betty's repair until next weekend when Husband will be home to sort it out.