I like driving in my car
So. On Friday morning, running slightly late, I put my key in the ignition, turned it, and... nothing. Not a sausage. Everything lit up, but as soon as I tried to turn the engine over it all went dark. Not even a pathetic chugging noise. Hmmm.
Rang father. Described symptoms; "does it sound like a flat battery to you?" He confirmed that seemed a likely hypothesis. I dared to be cheeky enough to ask whether he was busy that afternoon; he agreed to drive over after work and rescue me. I raced off to catch the bus to work, just in time to watch it sail past the end of the road. Pausing only to ponder why the bus was sailing rather than driving, I strolled up to the bus shelter and waited for the next one.
It had been a while since I'd been forced by circumstances to take the bus (the last time had been back in March, when the circumstances had been my urge to get drunk after work and having the foresight to leave the car at home to allow me to do this.) I had to phone school to tell them I'd be late, and phone Sam to tell him that if I didn't get it sorted he would have to forego quiche that evening as the quiche would be stranded with me in Peterborough. When I got to work and told my pitiful sobstory to the Head, he agreed to let me skive off early as I wasn't teaching last lesson, and even arranged a lift home for me so I wouldn't have to get the bus.
After school, I met my dad out by my car, and we attempted to jump-start it. My dad assured me that jumpleads don't normally get stupidly hot and start smoking, so we decided purchasing a new battery sounded like a good idea. Having established from a spotty youth on the telephone (he talked in a spotty-youth sort of voice) that Halfords had the required battery, we whizzed round and acquired it.
Why do things have to be difficult? The design of the clippy thing to secure the battery in place was not the best in the world, and having swiftly removed the old battery it took us ages, along with lots of sweating and grunting and poking to get the new one in place with the clip to hold it there. Maybe it's my comeuppance for driving a French car. Anyway, once the battery was installed, we said a little prayer to the patron saints of cars, and I climbed into the driving seat to try to turn the engine over. (Not literally. Having had so much difficulty getting the battery in, I wouldn't have been so stupid as to dislodge the engine.) Unlike this morning, I got the satisfying "BrrrrrrrrrrUUUUUUMMMMM" noise that my car usually makes. His job as the world's bestest father done, my dad drove the hour-long journey back home safe in the knowledge that my weekend would proceed according to plan now.
Note to self: Buy father large bottle of something nice or posh meal or something soon.
Rang father. Described symptoms; "does it sound like a flat battery to you?" He confirmed that seemed a likely hypothesis. I dared to be cheeky enough to ask whether he was busy that afternoon; he agreed to drive over after work and rescue me. I raced off to catch the bus to work, just in time to watch it sail past the end of the road. Pausing only to ponder why the bus was sailing rather than driving, I strolled up to the bus shelter and waited for the next one.
It had been a while since I'd been forced by circumstances to take the bus (the last time had been back in March, when the circumstances had been my urge to get drunk after work and having the foresight to leave the car at home to allow me to do this.) I had to phone school to tell them I'd be late, and phone Sam to tell him that if I didn't get it sorted he would have to forego quiche that evening as the quiche would be stranded with me in Peterborough. When I got to work and told my pitiful sobstory to the Head, he agreed to let me skive off early as I wasn't teaching last lesson, and even arranged a lift home for me so I wouldn't have to get the bus.
After school, I met my dad out by my car, and we attempted to jump-start it. My dad assured me that jumpleads don't normally get stupidly hot and start smoking, so we decided purchasing a new battery sounded like a good idea. Having established from a spotty youth on the telephone (he talked in a spotty-youth sort of voice) that Halfords had the required battery, we whizzed round and acquired it.
Why do things have to be difficult? The design of the clippy thing to secure the battery in place was not the best in the world, and having swiftly removed the old battery it took us ages, along with lots of sweating and grunting and poking to get the new one in place with the clip to hold it there. Maybe it's my comeuppance for driving a French car. Anyway, once the battery was installed, we said a little prayer to the patron saints of cars, and I climbed into the driving seat to try to turn the engine over. (Not literally. Having had so much difficulty getting the battery in, I wouldn't have been so stupid as to dislodge the engine.) Unlike this morning, I got the satisfying "BrrrrrrrrrrUUUUUUMMMMM" noise that my car usually makes. His job as the world's bestest father done, my dad drove the hour-long journey back home safe in the knowledge that my weekend would proceed according to plan now.
Note to self: Buy father large bottle of something nice or posh meal or something soon.
posted by Fluffy at 9:56 pm
3 Comments:
The quiche was fantastic, too!
Buses are Teh Suck.
I speak as someone who has no intention of ever getting a car, ever. Anything that avoids a bus journey is OK in my book.
Daddies are luffly. Hurrah for Daddy of Fluffy!
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