Well, it never rains but it bloody pours.
Tonight, Irish Alice (I.A) and her daughter, Yippee I.A., joined us for a trip to the pictures. Boy the Elder and Yippee have been friends since they were four and we often join forces for cinema trips. We went to Pizza Hut for a feed and then the three children went to see ‘Despicable Me’ in 3D while I.A. and I slipped into the pub next door for a glass of something white and chilled. Everybody happy.
As we left, I decided to pop into Tesco for some petrol to save time in the morning. I was just driving off the forecourt when, completely unbidden, a black Vauxhall Astra ploughed, with some force, into my front wing. I jumped out to inspect the damage and speak sternly to the other driver just in time to see my front bumper crash to the ground, lightly frosted with the remains of my headlight.
The other driver was a young girl who was sobbing hysterically at the wheel and it was her boyfriend who got out and talked to me. They both admitted it was her fault, but he explained that her hysteria was entirely justified as she had hit another car only two weeks previously.
The staff at the Tesco garage were absolutely brilliant. They immediately came out, cleared up, coned off the area, took the girl inside while her boyfriend parked the car, gave my children a drink and kept everyone calm while we exchanged details. I was actually completely calm as there is no point in being anything else; these things happen and will undoubtedly happen again. I told the girl this would make her a better driver as she would be a lot more careful in future. I’m sure that was a great comfort.
I called the AA, confident of a rescue; after all, I had upgraded at huge expense when my car broke down in Norfolk in the Spring. But no. Apparently the small print in my contact says they won’t rescue me if I’m in a car accident, but if I paid another £114 there and then, they would rescue me with pleasure. When I’d stopped shouting at him in Anglo Saxon, I told him he could shove his policy up his useless arse. There seems to be no end to the list of reasons why the AA don’t want to rescue me.
Now this is the amazing bit. Tesco have an arrangement with the RAC that if anyone breaks down on their premises, an RAC vehicle will come out free of charge and sort you out, including taking you home within a 10 mile radius. A rescue vehicle arrived within 15 minutes. He assessed my car, which was driveable, taped it up to make it safe and recommended that I should take it, slowly, to my garage immediately. He was confident that my insurance company (broker? The AA – hurrah) would consider it a write off.
I love my car. It is an X-reg Ford Escort – the last of its kind before they switched to making the Focus instead and it has a wicked sound system. My mechanic (in whom I am well pleased) also loves my car because it’s mechanical with real machinery that whirrs and chugs and, more importantly, he can mend it with ease. More importantly still, I have no means with which to buy another car. Mr RAC was quite reassuring though, because he assessed that the damage was all bodywork and that my insurance company is likely to give me the money and my car back which will mean that I can afford to repair it. Fingers crossed.
Yet again, The Father of My Children came to my rescue and brought us home from the garage. We now have a day off as I can’t take the children to school or do any of my own activities. Boy the Elder is delighted.
I will also have to cancel taking Jeremiah to the vet to be spayed. As it happens, I suspect that she is already pregnant, as she started the day by wee-ing on my bed at seven o’clock this morning and she appears to be eating for ten cats.
One day at a time…..