I'm on first name terms with the local recovery truck driver. That in itself is a worrying turn of events. He greets me like a regular customer. I guess that is what I have become. I suppose the next step will be having Green Flag on speed dial, recognising the call handlers and asking for Mike to attend once more. I certainly get the feeling that it won't be my last trip in the front of the Marsh Road Garage recovery truck.
It had been a good day up until then. Having been to the tip, I had taken young Lucas for a quick trip to the beach. It was fiercely hot, most unusual for this summer, and we had shorts on, so we went in the sea to cool off. Then, on the way home, I noticed that the gears were getting harder to get in to, having been so smooth since they were fixed last week. We got in to some stationary traffic on Preston Beach Road and whilst the rest of the stationary traffic became slow moving traffic, I was left cursing and sweating as I tried frantically to force the gear stick in to a gear, any gear, to get it going again. It wasn't happening. I'm no great mechanical expert but I could tell a knackered clutch when I felt one.
I tried pushing the beast out of the road. Hordes of gormless morons drove past, staring blankly at me as I tried in vain to get Jezebel out of the way of the traffic which was building up. Still, at least it wasn't whilst the Olympics were in full swing. Finally, a car full of Koreans stopped to help. At least I think they were Koreans. I didn't ask which side of the border they were from. They didn't seem to speak a lot of English but they understood the situation I was in and helped to push Jezebel up on to the pavement. I thanked them in my best Korean. "내 모자는 세 모서리를 가지고있다" . They seemed pleased with the news that my hat has got three corners.
I waited patiently for the arrival of Mike until there was a knock on the drivers window. "Hi, it's Don, Team 31" . And it was. Stood in the traffic, admiring my dubious parking and wondering if there was an issue. I explained the lack of clutch action and that my regular recovery truck driver Mike was coming to sort me out again. Not the greatest place for an impromptu Windy 500 discussion, I guess I should have invited him in, got the burner going and made him a quick cuppa.
The meeting earlier in the week with Team 3, Team Trauma, was much better organised and sociable. Cider, freshly grilled steak and salad lively discussion about ambulances and estate agents. I'm sure many people have dreamed of putting an estate agent in an ambulance, this team are actually going to do it ! Some great ideas from the paramedics on the fundraising front.
So, thanks to Mike, Jezebel is currently sat outside the house and is likely to be there for a little bit. The planned two day trip this weekend has now reverted to good, old fashioned, proper camping, in one of those tents. Just as the Olympics are due to start and I had envisaged having my van and it's advertising on view to the World's media, there she is parked in a cul-de-sac 3 miles from all of the action. Most annoying.
Later, whilst at work, I spotted a man in a lurid pink and purple top. Using my powers of deduction, I approached him and accused him of being Team 49. I was correct. First meeting with Gary as he is snowed under organising the Olympic ambassadors in Weymouth, with their violently coloured shirts. He won't have time to consider getting a vehicle until September and the Games have been and gone. Funnily enough, I had one he could have had, if he didn't mind a few dents where I had been banging my head against the bodywork.
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