Of cars and kittens
I don’t drive. Not only do I not drive, I don’t actually have a driving license. My last driving lesson (14 years ago) ended in my driving instructor actually telling me she did not want to teach me anymore (2nd crash - in my defence it wasn’t serious - I only drove into the back of a stationary police car - noone was hurt!).
So it’s probably no surprise that I have no interest in cars. Yesterday, I visited a woman who has an anxiety disorder. I go as regularly as I can and just keep an eye on how she is managing and in general it is one of those fairly low-key visits.
She has a car, and her car was broken. I offered to phone the RAC for her as she has a distrust and dislike of the telephone. I feel faintly embarrassed by the conversation I had - but I think the RAC man had a good old laugh.
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OK, perhaps when I was asked what type of car it was, answering ‘Green’ might not have been the wisest answer - but I don’t know what car is what! I also tried ‘Green and smallish, I think it’s quite old’. At that point, I could hear him sniggering. Of course, when he asked what was wrong with it, we entered an almost surreal level of conversation - as I wasn’t actually sure.
‘It won’t start’ I said.
‘Yes’ said the still-giggling RAC man ‘I understand that, but why?’
‘Because it doesn’t go - I don’t know’
I’m...
