If only it had been Dolly, but it wasn’t Dolly it was Nigel. But thank Dolly for Nigel.
I sprinted this weekend from the 'after lunch cup of tea' years of my life to the 'afternoon biscuit - quick get a cloth he's dribbling' years of my life.
I left my switch card in Sainsbury's on Friday night, the first time ever and just not the sort of thing I do. If I hear that a mere mortal has done something as ridiculous I will openly tut (well you've got to show these people). I don't do things like that.
Anyway I don't realise until I'm trying to pay for petrol in Greenwich. Barbara is half way through filling out the 'the twat's got no recourse to funds' form when I finally see the £20 note I had looked at each of the five times I had opened my wallet in my now catatonic state of panic filled disbelief. Barbara smiles, but I know she thinks I'm some sort of retard.
Anyway, so I finally set off for Norfolk - get wet, buy shirts, go to church you know the rest - blah blah blahety blah!
So who’s Nigel and why are we thanking Dolly for him?
Good question - I'm getting there.
Hooray for Dollywood
That screwy, ballyhooey Dollywood
Where any office boy
or young mechanic
Can be a panic
with just a goodlooking pan
Where any barmaid
can be a star maid
If she dances with or without a fan
But I digress (regress)
Picture the scene, if you will. It's 4.00 pm, I'm packing up the car after a nice couple of days, got to get back to London, rat race to rejoin, 27 more years until retirement to wade through, and anyway I'm due to measure up a church hall in Sydenham at 9.30 am for electoral services. So what do I do? I put my last bag in the boot, chuck in the keys and slam the boot shut! Yes you read right. I put the keys in the boot then slam it shut!
Ah but you can get into the boot via the car - it's a hatch back silly!
But no, the car was locked solid.
My keys were inside the car, my car keys and my house keys.
Why did you do that? I hear you cry
Cos I'm a frigging retard!
The blood runs from my head and I enter disaster mismanagement mode. How could I have done such a shit for brains thing? I want to go home, I still have to get home, but now I've just made it 100 times trickier.
The 4th thing to enter my mind, after hair brain schemes about getting to Norwich train station, then when back in London getting my spare keys from Jo and Anne's, coming back at the weekend with Joe with my spare keys, then driving back to London, etc., etc., etc., etc.. is to call the AA.
The recorded message suggests that if I’m in a part of the country that is flooding I'd better have a bloody good reason to stay on the line unless life and limb were at stake, but that if I was in a part of the country unaffected by the recent monsoon I should hold for an operator.
I don’t know her name but let's just call her Stern Hilda. Stern Hilda painted pictures of how much damage they were going to have to do to break into my car. She explained how I would have to sign a waiver before the work was done, give my first born to the devil, that sort of thing.
'It's 4.05 pm Mr Godwin, we aim to have someone with you by 4.55 pm.'
That was the last I ever heard of Stern Hilda.
In the next 25 minutes my life force slowly ebbs away from me. What was to become of me, how would I ever get back to London? My car was obviously going to be so damaged by the break in that it would be unsecurable, undriveable. I was right, everything was a big black hole, no point in being optimistic, as there was no point to anything anymore.
That Ladies and gentlemen was before Nigel came into my life. Not the hunkiest of AA patrol men, but he had the colour back in my cheeks within seconds with his 'don't worry there sir, I'll have your car open in no time', stylee of approach. I'd prefer his bedside manner to Hilda's (Stern) any day. Although if I have a choice of AA bedside companion I'll go for the one who came to rescue me and the advantage in Sutton. He was so sexy and as he fixed his lustful gaze on me (well I was 28, slim, gorgeous and in my prime) he explained 'I only do this for the uniform' PASS MUMMY HER SMELLING SALTS!
One folded up Tesco lemon zest washing liquid bottle, one coat hanger and 7 seconds later Nigel was in my car, he'd lowered one of the back seats, located my keys and was well into a story about the lady from Holkeham whose house he'd had to break into yesterday to get her spare set of keys as the leather on her new Jag was not for ripping with an old coat hanger.
How much damage? NONE!
I think I clawed my way back to the 'after lunch cup of tea' years today, no further mishaps but no audit commission either unfortunately.
In other news, Evie tried to crawl today!, it's the lovely Bryan's brithday tomorrow - happy birthday my antipodean beauty, Adrian's got a new Volvo (he's got a very roomy Vauxhall), and Sian's off to her Tuscan Villa (without me)!
All the best from the west.
WHGIII xx
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