Thursday, February 7, 2008

Hurting the Car's Feelings

Spent the day catching up on domestic duties. Mowed the lawn and trimmed the edges, nearly dug some of my hole, vacuumed the car then decided to wash it. Normally, despite the drought and council blah blahs, I wash it in the driveway. I figure we do everything else right with water consumption, what the hell.

Today I thought I'd do the right thing, filled my pocket with coin, strapped the Noodle in and prepared to drive to the car wash on South Road, Tonsley. Then Knickers asked me which one I was going to.

'South road'
'Why don't you go to the one on Unley road?'
'Near the big booze joint?'
'I don't think that is self-serve.'
'I'm pretty sure it is, and it's heaps closer.' she said in the tone of one who has made a decision.

So we went to Unley road. I got flagged into a bay by a bloke with Oakley sunnies with an electronic clipboard who told me there is no self-service (I bloody knew it) and the cheapest wash is thrice what I had in coin. Red faced I guided our ageing station-wagon through a seventy-five-point turn in front of a hoard of Maserati owners.

'Bye-bye,' the Noodle called cheerily as I laid rubber, heading south to familiar territory.
Obviously the old warhorse took offence at my reluctance to fork out and chose to retaliate by breaking down at the Cross road intersection. Spiteful bitch. The lights turned green, cars started to pile up behind. A helpful lady got on the horn. Time slowly passed.

No-one stopped to help. I just sat there, panicky at first, then just stumped.
'Funny' said the Noodle from the back. But he didn't look too sure. I tried to smile re-assuringly while twisting the ignition and stamping on the pedal.
'Hilarious.' I agreed.

Eventually a lady came over from the footpath and offered to look after the Noodle while I flagged some help down. I ran her through a quick mental checklist and decided she looked more Nana than Kidnapper (you can tell just by looking at people, kidnappers have horns and swastika tattoos) and handed him over. If your Holden is going to break down the best spot is probably right next to a Holden dealer, I ducked into Clarridge and a mustachioed salesman sent a couple of minions out to give me a push. So now we are in their professional clutches.

I blame Knickers.

On the plus side I found $2 on the footpath and treated myself and the Noodle to a chocolate bar while we waited for Knickers to come and pick us up.

The above photo was taken in happier times this morning when we drove the hounds up to Brown Hill Creek to see if the recent rain had translated to running water. Apparently they hadn't and the creek is still a series of stagnant ponds. This did not deter the big fat, now stinky, hound from going for a swim.


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