redsox
Facebook User
I was awoken this morning at the ungodly hour of 8.30 a.m , I work nights by the way, I say this only to avoid the patronizing sighs of all you 'non-vampire types', by the angelic screech of my beloved .
"We've got a flat" she bellowed, at a volume normally reserved for rock concerts & rocket launches.
Dazed by a lack of sleep I managed to swallow my reflex response of Anglo Saxon & gesticulation and in a mammoth attempt of self control managed to curtail it to a few mumbled, garbled but manly grunts.The tyre was indeed flat, sadly the compressor , bought for such emergencies, at a cost that would normally feed us for a week would not work!!
Ignoring my 7 year old son's obvious delight at the prospect, he thought , of not going to school and my wife's equal dismay at not getting to work. I assessed the situation , struggling for an answer that would lead me swiftly and efficiently back to the ' land of nod' from whence I came.
"Garage" , said I , still struggling in my half awake state to string words together in any form of coherent sentence (a bit like your average foxes fan!).
On arrival at said garage, another , seemingly innocent barrier , had been placed in our way by the secret Government depatment of the 'Ministry of Anger', a delivery lorry had parked across the bay,at a perfect 45 degree angle, leaving only enough room for an anorexic cyclist only to pass. I also needed to change the handful of shrapnel , the wife had allowed me to carry for a 50p piece.
Politely standing behind three or four other, increasingly impatient , would be customers, I realised that the Lady struggling toward the till, at snail's pace ,with her zimmer frame (I kid you not) was in fact the cashier. Having rediscovered my linguistic abilities by now I next attempted to engage the driver of the afore-mentioned delivery lorry in a discussion as to the length of time we might be expected to wait to get around his skilfully parked vehicle.
After one aborted attempt of getting past, echoes of the delivery man's encouraging words in her ear ( "You could drive a f***ing bus through there love"), an annoying wait for my better half to return from a jaunt up the dual carriageway, thanks to an impatient lady, whose life was so very obviously more important than ours!! and our helpful delivery man's acceptance that he may have to move his, expertly parked vehicle. We eventually managed to get to a point where we could re-inflate our tyres,
Son ,now at school, wife now at work I am unable to sleep and we are all uncertain as to wether we have a 'slow puncture' or a would be comedian letting our tyres down, ( I suspect the latter because one other tyre was less than fully inflated too!)
"We've got a flat" she bellowed, at a volume normally reserved for rock concerts & rocket launches.
Dazed by a lack of sleep I managed to swallow my reflex response of Anglo Saxon & gesticulation and in a mammoth attempt of self control managed to curtail it to a few mumbled, garbled but manly grunts.The tyre was indeed flat, sadly the compressor , bought for such emergencies, at a cost that would normally feed us for a week would not work!!
Ignoring my 7 year old son's obvious delight at the prospect, he thought , of not going to school and my wife's equal dismay at not getting to work. I assessed the situation , struggling for an answer that would lead me swiftly and efficiently back to the ' land of nod' from whence I came.
"Garage" , said I , still struggling in my half awake state to string words together in any form of coherent sentence (a bit like your average foxes fan!).
On arrival at said garage, another , seemingly innocent barrier , had been placed in our way by the secret Government depatment of the 'Ministry of Anger', a delivery lorry had parked across the bay,at a perfect 45 degree angle, leaving only enough room for an anorexic cyclist only to pass. I also needed to change the handful of shrapnel , the wife had allowed me to carry for a 50p piece.
Politely standing behind three or four other, increasingly impatient , would be customers, I realised that the Lady struggling toward the till, at snail's pace ,with her zimmer frame (I kid you not) was in fact the cashier. Having rediscovered my linguistic abilities by now I next attempted to engage the driver of the afore-mentioned delivery lorry in a discussion as to the length of time we might be expected to wait to get around his skilfully parked vehicle.
After one aborted attempt of getting past, echoes of the delivery man's encouraging words in her ear ( "You could drive a f***ing bus through there love"), an annoying wait for my better half to return from a jaunt up the dual carriageway, thanks to an impatient lady, whose life was so very obviously more important than ours!! and our helpful delivery man's acceptance that he may have to move his, expertly parked vehicle. We eventually managed to get to a point where we could re-inflate our tyres,
Son ,now at school, wife now at work I am unable to sleep and we are all uncertain as to wether we have a 'slow puncture' or a would be comedian letting our tyres down, ( I suspect the latter because one other tyre was less than fully inflated too!)
I now, those of you who have read this, are probably sniggering at my misfortune and . in your shoes , maybe I would too, Forgive me , if I can't quite bring myself to just yet. Though this rant might just have brought me a little closer!!
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