Another one bites the dust

A fine morning; usual rota of clubs for Katherine, bit of work at the MBH for me, and a chat with the electrician about telephone cable - he'd already chosen the right stuff (don't you love it when tradesfolk do that - treat it like they're doing up their own house and so choose quality where it matters, and cheap solutions where it doesn't?)

Lovely sunny day too; car was running well, all was well with the world.

Until it wasn't.

Heading out after lunch to take Conor to football the car wouldn't start. After many texts with Mr B, trying lots of different things and letting the car cool down before trying them all all over again, I gave in and called nice garageman, who came out at the end of the afternoon. He tried a few things, then looked perplexed before checking the place where you pour the oil in and giving out one of his alarming 'ooh la la' - but not in an amusing way. More in a 'you've got water in the oil tank and the engine's dead' way.

Sigh.

So, with the day ruined, I figured I might as well get the call to Orange out of the way to set up our phone/internet service at the new house. I mean, things couldn't get any worse. How wrong I was. After literally an hour of going round and round in circles the sighing frustrated operative at the other end of the phone finally listened to what I was saying, rather than just assuming what I wanted, and sorted things out. Why don't people listen to the words? When I say "I do not want to be without internet even for a day. I am prepared to pay for two contracts to avoid that" does he hear "give me the cheapest option. I'm moving house and want to not have the internet for two weeks before and after I move because that will improve my temper no end at such a stressful time".

And still no oven so more fried chicken for dinner.

Now I'm off to call my Dad to confirm that there is no way back for our car. We've not had it long and it seems so unfair that it's already written off. Normally it takes us months to run our cars into the ground. Mr B is racing for a ferry home. He hasn't had the bad news yet about the car. I hope he doesn't read this before I can find a way to break it to him gently...