Strange last couple of days on the car front. Yesterday morning at 7:30am, Susan came in saying, “I can’t open the car door”. She drives a Micra. It was freezing cold. “Can I take your car?”
“Yes”, I grumpily grunted. I would miss the heated front seats of the Rover. (“Ooo! Warm botties!”, says Kate.)
So off she went, only for me to find out, when I had to take Kate down to school, that Susan had taken both sets of keys for the Micra.
So we walked to school, late, grumpy.
Then this morning Susan found the Micra’s battery was flat. “Can I take your car?” This was now sounding familiar. Grump.
As I was to find later, while madly wrestling with one of the frozen doors the day before Susan had managed to open it partially so that the internal light was left on for the following 24 hours.
This was bad enough. When the RAC bloke arrived, he asked me to start the engine. “Ha!”, I thought, “My moment of self-justification”. With a swish of the head and a flick of the wrist I turned the key.
No self-justification. The car started like a dream. Apology required and offered. Sloped back into the house and grumped.