It is hard, in this grey, wet and stormy weather to keep one's pecker vertical. It is even so mild that I can't convince myself that a roaring fire would be a good idea, so no glow from the grate, just wind in the chimney.
I did manage to get the car MOTd, always a stretch as I hate turning up and looking useless, but where cars are concerned it is who I am, pointless trying to put on a show of confidence as i would be disdainfully rumbled in two ticks and the garage men are already arrogant enough.
Actually i have found that the service centre is bearable for my little Cleopatra as it has counter staff that distance me from the oily rag macho men, there is a very emollient guy called Paul who even phones up afterwards to make sure all met my expectations. As my expectations mainly wallow in humiliations I am usually ecstatic, especially as they washed the car too this time.
However Paul was busy soothing another woman when I came to claim my prize, so I muttered [safe in the knowledge that I was nearly through the torture] and a young female decided to deal with me. I was a receptionist/typist/dogsbody once and I swear I wasn't as snooty as so many who serve behind counters these days. Fight or flight led me to give her my card, grab the keys and run.
Only when I got home did I see that the numbers beside my tyre depth measurements look somewhat reduced. Is a 2 bad? I fear it may be, I can only hope young Paul can spare me the time to check on my well being so I can enquire.
