I should be in Zac's now. I'm all ready. All I'm lacking is a car that goes.
Having decided to take Alfie Porsche instead of Betty Beetle, I unlocked the garage, opened the door (a feat in itself), got in Alfie and put the key in the ignition. Brrr ... brr ... br ... r. Phooey.
Oh well, I'll risk taking Betty; she's probably fine. Back in the house to get Betty's keys. Ten minutes later, having tried all the usual places, I work out where Betty's keys might be. I get in the car, put the key in the ignition. Nothing. Not so much as a r, let alone a brrm brrm.
So I'm here, sulking. Wanting chocolate.
4 comments:
Chocolate is definitely the only solution!
Does George know where they are?
Flipping cars for sure. Betty Beatle should be pensioned off but I guess that is pretty hard to do to the old girl.
Chocolate is good for any occasion it seems to me.
And I didn't have any, welshcakes!
He wasn't telling, cherrypie.
I had to make do with a rather dried-up orange, which George and I shared while watching Grey's Anatomy, jmb.
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