Firstly, before more boring car stuff, sorry, did you catch the nice lady on the lunch-time news state that gold was at $1870 a barrel. $1870 a barrel? Man, that's cheap. Need to get me a pair of barrels of it at that price!
Right, this is the last car story I promise. It's a doozy though.
We were shopping, and on completion of said shopping, were tramping across the car park back to the car. Nothing strange about that then. My little nest of vipers stopped at the back of the car waiting for me to catch up and get there, I was carrying more, to pop the trunk.
I looked down and my ears… no, wait! my eyes saw what looked suspiciously like scratches on the back right end. Back right end of the car that is, not her.
Can't be, I thought, it's gotta be dirt. Tentatively touching the dirt with a suitably spat upon finger I was horrified to feel they were, indeed, many deep scratches.
At such times as these it seems hundreds of thoughts race through your head in a split second. My head, not having any great capacity, the thoughts racing through caused severe dizziness and nausea.
Did I do that? Can't have been me, Hal has a 'going backwards-getting closer' beeper thingy. Did they do it at the garage? Unlikely. Has someone hit it in the car park? Likely. Will it rain again later? Did we remember to get butter?
"LOOK! Look here. LOOK!! Scratches!" I screeched at the scratches scathingly.
"Sclatches much more bad than those on this side."
"WHAT? There's more sclatches… damn, scratches? What's happened here?"
"Forget it. Nothing you can do. Never mind."
"WHAT? Are you totally nuts? Is that all you can say? Forget it? Nothing I can do? Never mind?"
"Sure. Why not? Forget it. Never mind. What can you do?Not your car. Your car over there."
"Oh. Same colour though, isn't it?"
"Not even close."
"Right."
Quote; Bill Bryson.
"Boston's freeway system is insane. It was clearly designed by a person who had spent his childhood crashing toy trains."
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