I’ve been to work and am running a teeny bit late, should still be on time for my appointment if I put my foot down tho. Which I do. I take a roundabout fast. I’m almost back to town and I’m just wondering if there’ll be a space on the road so I don’t have to pay to park when the exhaust starts making a funny noise. I slow down and notice that the car is losing power too. No hard shoulder, so I have to stop in the slow lane of the dual carriageway.
Once I’m out of the car, it becomes obvious that the car has blown a tyre; rear driver’s side. I get my bag and phone and call Green Flag. I can hardly hear the agent because of the roar of traffic, much of which is swerving to avoid my lil Fiesta. They can’t find my details. FFS. I’m patient for a while and then when the agent starts suggesting I phone another number, I get cross. ‘I’m on the side of a dual carriageway; my car is in the road. I’ve had this account for 15 years. I can’t sort this out, you need to.’ He does.
Once breakdown are on their way, I phone R. He faffs about. All I really want is the address of the garage his friend has. He tells me I won’t need it. Can I have it just in case please? He tells me he doesn’t know it. Um, can you GET IT?
Next I ring the hospital. The receptionist tells me not to worry. They’re open until 7. Um, even room 8? She thinks so. Can she check? Yes, she can. She does, phones back and has to leave a voice mail because R has phoned back. He’s got the address for which I’m very grateful.
The breakdown man comes, it IS only a tyre so I’m changed and on my way within 15 mins of him getting there. I drive far more sedately but as quickly as I dare, park in the expensive car part and SCREECH into radiotherapy reception just as the receptionist is leaving. She checks me in and then pulls down the shutters. Phew
No comments:
Post a Comment