Nyctophobia

Well, we got the car back on Thursday. And had 48 hours of fun. And then last night happened.

At 10.30pm I tried to drive it home, on my own, and found it was entirely devoid of life. Literally nothing happened when I turned the key. So I phoned the RAC and they said they would have someone out to me in 45 minutes. An hour later they rang to say they were sorry no-one was with me yet, but they were now trying to find a local agent to help. I should tell you all now I'm properly scared of the dark, as in still have a night-light aged 38, scared. And pretty windy about ghosts and churchyards and bats and foxes. I was parked in a village with no street lighting, in front of the church gates, in full view of the tomb-stones and belfry...

At 11.30pm the agent rang to say he was about to leave Lower Dicker to come out to me. This meant nothing to me, but Google revealed that Lower Dicker was about 30 minutes away. Just after midnight he arrived. Lovely Brett. Lovely Brett who had clearly never seen a Volvo XC90 before. He asked if I knew where the battery was. I asked whether they could be anywhere else apart from under the bonnet? He couldn't get the bonnet up...I showed him how to do it...by this point I was wondering if I ought to declare I was in charge and seize the booster pack. It turned out there was no battery under the bonnet. He said it was therefore in the boot. With the Phil & Teds, Maclaren buggy, Little Life Backpack and half a ton of general toddler and baby 'stuff'. I offloaded the lot into the road, and then it became clear Brett really had no idea about XC90s. Luckily his phone had an Internet connection, so an American YouTube video was able to help, and there was even a commentary directing him how to access the battery. (It reminded me of the time I took the Bear to a consultant appointment I'd waited 12 weeks for at our local hospital, and they actually typed his symptoms into Google while I was watching.) So he found the battery, clamped the jump leads on and asked me to turn the key. Dead. We repeated this several times over the next 30 minutes. And I was getting more and more close to tying him to a tree in the churchyard and jump starting it myself, because clearly he was doing it wrong, and I was pretty sure the leads were in the wrong place.

At 12.30am he announced we were now moving to 'recover' the vehicle - I assume he was done with me seething by his side and was admitting defeat. He asked me to take the car out of Park so he could wind it onto the flatbed. I did take it out of Park, and that's when everything changed. Suddenly I was in a vehicle accelerating backwards, with no working brake because the ignition wasn't on, and a handbrake that had failed years ago. It was a long 5 seconds, but we stopped when we smashed into the side of the recovery truck. At that point I stopped seething and wanting to be in charge, and lovely Brett patted my back and said it could all be fixed. For someone so apparently laid-back about me trashing his truck, he took a lot of pictures...

Eventually he unhooked the truck from my bumper and started again trying to 'recover' me. This time he asked me to hand over the keys. I did. Brett put the them in the ignition and it started first time. Without even thinking about it.

And so we roll into another week of the holidays with no car...here's some of the bits Brett picked up off the road.


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