Homage to Alan Bennett

I could swear it was mid july when the first snows of winter lay thick upon my Aunt Kates eiderdown when I first noticed I had chicken pox. The concomitant medication I was taking for my hiatus hernia was effecting my oboe practice and making me giddy on the tram. Mother could see I was vexated and gave me a horlix and malt bread poultice that night after my weekly bath and mint kendle enema. My sister Susan came home early from her shift in the marmite shaft due to an attack of the NUMs. Having abluted she reported it was obvious that only a good rubbing down with the Morecombe times and brasso would eleviate the sticking ball cock in the outside privy and Thora Herd and myself set to with a will. 

Mother was shovelling jam for all she was worth as the sun went down over the asbestos factory and my father, a dour man of some 50 summers came home from his days labour at the Pig and Whistle Public Librairy and sauna for the mute. A big lad was our Dad, Laughlingly he gave us a sharp slap with his belt and felled our Susan with a friendly upper cut that would have been the pride of our Enry and no arguments "Eeeeee what a tooo dooo" he said as he fetched mother one before puttin on the home service to get his asparagus forecast. I sadly played my Oboe in the corner with Susan ont spoons.

Yesterday I had to take my car to have a simple job performed:

Swop one tyre for the spare

Check fluids

Wash car. 

As this seemed not beyond the gift of man I took it to a Tyre outlet in my local area. There I sat while a youngish lad and recently qualified (according to his certificate proudly displayed on the office wall) in the black art of swopping tyres perfomed his magic. 

Some hours later it appeared our hero had done his bit and walked in to the office with that clicking tongue and deep inhale of breath that says "brace yourself its going to cost". He said "yer back wheel brake cylinders leaking Mester". £80 later I left with a job I could have done for £18 - the cost of the cylinder. 

However, all seemed fair and so shops visited,  I parked up at home for the night. Imagine my dismay this morning when I went out and found a pool of brake fluid on the drive. So, without collecting £200 or passing Go, I went back to Tyres Are (But break Cylinders obviously arent) US. 

There I cornered our recent Pupil of the Grimsby School of Automotive and Pitza Technology and enquired as to his specialisation.. "was it Tie Wrapology" I said 

Had he not heard of spanners and the law that says;  righty tighty sodding lefty loosey? He blanched and set too with a will while I negotiated a reduction in his labour cost.

I wouldnt mind but this is all due to the other day while out and about I stuck my front nearside wheel into the pot hole from hell and bust the tyre and knocked off the wheel aligment. That cost a new trye and £40 quid to sort. But, of course that wasnt the only damage. As I found when I tried to drive it the other night to the cinema. The poor thing was wobbling all over the place and pulling left. So back to the garage for another attempt at getting the poor wee car to perform a simple straight line. I suspect a bent track rod or:

No doubt more to follow on this one.