When finding the way I follow my nose
If it runs so do I
It makes sense I suppose
But the girl in the piccy uses her head
Til the parting of ways
When she loses the thread
So I think my way’s best, I hope you agree
And I don’t need a mirror
I’m completely hands free
Which allows me to hold thermos and cup
Enjoying refreshment
Whilst avoiding slip ups.
I hope you find your way over the weekend … have a lovely time.
So there I was on eBay watching the old Volvo’s roof bars reaching the heady heights of £21 + £15 postage and packing and thinking “Oooo, the PayPal account will be in the black for the first time ever!”.
Meanwhile Lo, she is a terrible Goddess was hunched over her computer looking a tad secretive.
After I had had an email from Paypal to say the money had been received I decided to check the balance. Apparently we owed £64!!?!!
I was just going to inform the TG and ask her to contact them to find out what was going on when she got up from her computer saying “Excellent Peabrain, I’ve just got an iPhone on eBay for a mere £100.” Suddenly the maths made sense. Still, we must have been in credit for a nanosecond or two … *sigh*
The story of my life marks my face like a slap
I really had no idea I’d suffered so much crap.
[Actually, I suspect it’s got more to do with gravity and the lack of a moisturising regime but that doesn’t sound nearly as interesting or manly]
Many years ago Lo, she is a terrible Goddess and I bought a couple of cars at auction. These were the days when the dealers carried around the first mobile phones. The handset was the size of a brick and they used to tow small trailers behind them that held the batteries.
A few less ‘many years ago’ we had an antique shop and used to buy stock at auction in the SE and the SW of England. Occasionally there were bidders on the phone but it was rare.
The local auction house now has regular bidders on the landline, on smart phones and on computers and sometimes there’s even a video link. Incidentally there’s often a TV film crew there as well supplying the always hungry market for the innumerable antique shows on day time television.
Today I’m selling my first ever item on eBay. You’ll never guess what it is. No, it isn’t the petrol from the dead Volvo, it’s the roof bars from the dead Volvo! I was going to give them to a charity shop or offer them on a freecycle site but thought it would be fun to try eBay. I’m getting over excited as the bidding is already up to 99p and there are several hours to go.
(I wonder if there’s a section for used Peabrains – ‘Breakers only”? Or, maybe I could replace some of this one’s more defunct parts and revive it, I mean, him. Thinks… Lo,TG Ed)
I miss my childhood doctor. You really felt he’d done a proper job after he’d peered into and probed every orifice, depressed your tongue with a wooden spatula leaving a splinter half way down your throat, and then sent you on your way clutching a bottle of medicine that tasted like a combination of nitric acid and cat’s pee and was the colour of a strawberry Mivvi.
It’s all computerised now. He tinkles on his keypad while firing questions at you.
“Have you ever sat near to a bonfire?”
“Have any of your ancestors ever died?”
“Have you ever eaten a doughnut?”
“Do you run a marathon every day, once a week, once a month, once a year or never?”
“OK, the computer says that you have a 10% chance of dying before you leave the surgery, a 20% chance of at least one leg falling off before next Christmas and a 50% chance of surviving the next meeting of the coven. My advice to you is …. dammit, the computer’s crashed … you’d better come back in a year’s time. NEXT!”
Conclusion
Lo, she is a terrible Goddess woke up in an efficient mood.
“This is ridiculous. Telephone the breakers, tell them to pick up the Volvo, and then take the hire car back. We’re going to buy either the Hyundai, I can use a cushion, or the car at the local dealers. Whoever comes up with the best deal – that’s the car we’re having.”
I phoned the breakers who said that they could pick it up that afternoon. As the TG wasn’t listening, I explained there was £60’s worth of petrol in it. Strangely, they didn’t seem interested.
I took the hire car back – total mileage 345 miles.
The TG, using her ‘mellifluous laced with tempered steel’ tone, negotiated a very good price on the car from the local garage … the car that was literally the nearest to home, a mere mile away.
In the afternoon I waved a sad goodbye to the Volvo whilst pocketing some cash, and then waved again as our new beast arrived. It isn’t a Volvo but it is the youngest car we’ve ever owned with only 15,000 miles on the clock and half the price of the last car we bought.
I’ve taken to hiding in it for reasons of health and safety: the TG would never run the risk of getting blood on the seats. However she did say that if I scratched or dented it, or got gingernut crumbs on the upholstery she’d kill* me. I do love a themed week.
(*Honestly! As if I’d go to so much trouble. Lo,TG Ed)
Desperation.
Search radius increased to forty miles. Hours are spent on the interweave.
We head North towards London to look at several cars at a particular garage. Unbeknownst to us there are 2 large luxurious Volvos on the forecourt. We sit in them. One has very comfortable leather armchairs for seats with an undergusset heating system. Lo, she is a terrible Goddess decides to get out after I’ve become a tad hysterical about running costs, insurance costs and the tax bracket. She regards me with a level stare. My blood runs cold and then she shrugs and says we’ll go home so that I can have a nap.
More searching and the following day we head North East and look at a Hyundai that’s the right colour, price … ish, very reasonable running costs AND A FREE iPAD!!!!
We go for a very thorough test drive including a section of motorway. The TG can’t get comfortable. The front passenger seat has a ridge in it that’s just in the wrong place. Comfort is way up on our list of considerations. We try to force a square peg into a round hole but sense prevails. (Totally unsuitable metaphor, Peabrain. Lo,TG Ed)
We return home in the hire car which we’re starting to hate.
Too tired and disappointed to think about it any more so ignore the computer and just concentrate on cups of tea and gingernuts.
“If we don’t get this sorted out soon, Peabrain, I will kill you.” The TG then started muttering something about having more money, insurance, and checking with the doctor on my blood pressure results. She seemed to brighten up a tad.
I’m actually starting to fear for my life.
(Interesting to note, Avid Readers, that he’s not worried about his sanity. Lo,TG Ed)
To be concluded
The pressure builds.
Saturday – Drive in increasingly uncomfortable rental 20 miles West.
Too noisy, too expensive, ….. eeek! Very ugly!
Sunday – Drive in torture machine 20 miles East to look at a specific vehicle.
Quietish, reasonable price, nasty colour.
The time at home is spent on the computers researching price, reliability, running costs and comfort. Search radius increased to 30 miles.
Monday – I’ve got an appointment at the doctor’s to have a 24 hour blood pressure monitor fitted as I’m “borderline”. This goes off every hour to find an average over a day. We decide to spend a quiet day at home researching on the computers and just look at one car in our local garage.
Pressure test 1 – In the middle of computer rage and a heated lively discussion with Lo, she is a terrible Goddess.
Pressure test 2 – In the middle of making a telephone call. I hate making telephone calls.
Pressure test 3 – In the middle of test driving a car from the local garage in heavy traffic.
Pressure test 4 – In the middle of making sardines on toast for the TG. I’d completely forgotten I was wearing the infernal machine, jumped in shock and flipped a sardine that stuck to the ceiling.
…. and so on throughout the day until …
Pressure test 11 – In bed having organised machine, tubes and pressure pad. Feeling very relaxed. The noise of the pump wakes the TG and she says in a very quiet voice -
“If that wakes me up again I am going to kill you.”
To be continued
Putting our petrol heads on.
I woke up the following morning – which was a great relief as I have been known to hum in my sleep. I telephoned the garage we use for repairs. My worst suspicions were confirmed. The cost to get the beast working again would be 3 or 4 times it’s worth and with all it’s other problems, rust, new tyres needed fairly soon and the damage gingernut crumbs had done to the interior, we had little choice. At least the decision to replace it was cut and dried.
Lo, she is a terrible Goddess and I have driven Volvos for the past 35 years or so. We had the one before last for 20 years and the one which had just died for 10. We always buy used cars. We decided we ought to get something cheaper to buy and to run. Finding a replacement was going to be tricky.
The TG organised a hire car and sat on the computer to see what was available within a ten mile radius, the choice limited by my preference for an automatic transmission.
I stared out of the window looking at the dead car.
“There’s £60’s worth of petrol in there.”
“I know but you’ve spoken to the man at the garage and he says it’s impossible to get it out without spending ages dismantling it. You can’t just siphon it. Let’s go and get the hire car and look around some dealers. We need a car.”
We picked up the rental car – small and with uncomfortable seats but it worked. We traipsed round the local dealers.
I asked everyone I met if they knew a way of getting the petrol out of the newly named ‘Scrappy’. They all shook their heads.
We returned home feeling very cold without seeing anything that tempted us.
I spoke to the Ohjays as we made our way to the front door.
“Yes it’s dead. There’s £60 pounds worth of petrol in it BTW. Any ideas?”
They shook their heads.
We went inside and the TG returned to the computer and widened the search range to 20 miles.
I stared out of the window.
“I’ll find some more cars for us to look at tomorrow, Peabrain” she said with a gentle smile “and BTW, if you mention the petrol left in the tank again – I’ll kill you.”
To be continued
In the beginning.
Lo, she is a terrible Goddess and I thoroughly enjoyed going to see Spamalot. We’d gone to the matinee so it was only just getting dark when we set off from the car park [£13 for less than 3 hours …. eeeeek] to return home.
We wended our weary way out of Brighton and started zooming home. It was the rush hour – very busy with headlights glaring and exhausts steaming in the frigid air. I started humming as I looked forward to a cup of tea and a bite to eat.
On a particularly fast and busy stretch there was a ‘ping’ and a rattle from under the bonnet. The engine died instantly. It’s a road we know well on the Pevensey marshes with narrow verges and deep ditches. I steered as far as I dared onto the grass verge and hit the hazard lights. About a third of the car was still on the road.
We sat there like lemons waiting for inspiration, but I knew the cam belt had pinged and we were stuffed.
We have never been members of a “Oh dear you’ve broken down we will come and rescue you” service.
The TG whipped out the mobile, phoned directory enquiries, was put through to the AA [Automobile Association], joined under their Emergency Join-up Extra Specially Expensive Roadside Rescue scheme, and they said they’d be there in 25 minutes. Excellent – I started humming as I watched the traffic zooming by and the TG snuggled under a couple of the rugs she keeps handy for just such an emergency as the cold took over in the now heaterless car. 20 minutes later our saviour arrived.
“It’s too dangerous to put your car on a loader here, I’m going to have to tow you.”
I spent the next 50 minutes staring at the back of a very stripy truck, trying to anticipate when it was going to turn a corner, apply brakes etc etc, getting colder and colder. I always find that humming helps me concentrate. The TG was warm in the truck, no doubt beguiling the driver with fluttering eyelashes and exotic stories.
Eventually our car was unhitched outside the house and we waved goodbye to our saviour.
The TG started making a cup of tea and supper whilst I sat on the sofa humming and trying to get warm.
“We’ll probably need a new car now. Breaking cam belts allow the pistons to bash the valves and they get bent and it’ll cost more than the car is worth to mend them and we haven’t got a car to use to look at new cars and the old car is stuck outside [annoyingly with a full tank of petrol and anti-syphon technology incorporated] .” I started to panic.
“We’ll hire one and then start the search tomorrow” she replied calmly “and BTW, if you don’t stop humming ‘Always look on the bright side of life’ – I’m going to kill you.”
To be continued
Stumble It!