Poor old C has been tearing her hair out today.
Trying to tax her car she discovered that the MOT ran out ages ago. PANIC!!!
A quick call to the local MOT centre got it booked in for this afternoon. “It’ll be an hour” he said.
By late afternoon they’d established that it wouldn’t be ready till tomorrow – and it was going to cost £160. A tearful C asked me if I would nip (Ha! – Nip? It’s 5 miles) to the MOT centre to get her house keys off her keyring.
As a good mother should I set off to get the keys, The mechanic at the centre, after trying to hand me the keys for a very nice Ford Fiesta, realised who I was then handed me C’s door key which was ready and waiting for me. I took it and dropped it straight into my pocket.
I texted C to suggest that I pick up the baby from nursery and then pick up Ol from work before meeting her at home to save yet more running about on my part. No reply.
I phoned. No reply. Now that was odd. C has had her phone surgically implanted. Something had to be wrong.
I phoned work. C answered. “My mobile’s broken.”
Setting off to get the baby from nursery I felt C’s key nestling safely in my pocket. After nursery I set off to get Ol, sitting in the half mile long traffic jam at the temporary traffic lights that stay on green long enough to let 3 cars through, I once again checked C’s key was still safely in my pocket.
That feels like a car key!!!! WTF???
Another phone call to work: “RING THE MOT CENTRE, QUICKLY BEFORE THEY CLOSE, THEY’VE GIVEN ME THE WRONG KEY!!!!!”
Return call from C: “They’ve gone.
The baby gurgling quietly and happily in the back of the car prevented me from fully venting my spleen at that point. Ol just sat quietly looking at the floor.
Next phone call from B: They haven’t gone home – they’re waiting for you.
Negotiating rush hour traffic jam after rush hour traffic jam, we finally made it back to the MOT centre where a cold, miserable and sheepish mechanic handed me the correct keys.
Back through the rush hour traffic we set off to C’s. She and B were in his car waiting for us to arrive. Poor C looked thoroughly miserable. I felt so sorry for her.
Oh well, it could have been worse, we might not have caught the mechanic before he went home and then they’d have had to spend the night at our house.
What an exciting afternoon. I knew I wouldn’t be bored for long!