Photo: Stuart France
If you are going to have your car squashed by a lorry, then I heartily recommend my local supermarket. Admitting liability instantly, their chosen intermediaries expedited the whole process, leaving me barely chance to mourn the Silver Bullet when they announced her official demise. The only fly in the proverbial ointment was the mail service that delayed the settlement cheque quite unreasonably.
However… the deed is done, the Bullet is no more, gone to some faraway scrap yard to donate her organs to other, less mangled vehicles. She goes with my thanks and affection.
The hire car, driven only with the aid of the pillow from the spare bed that allowed me to reach the pedals, went with a kind of relief, grateful as I had been for its temporary presence. I had found a replacement a week before and, on a dark and chilly night, when…
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