My Waterloo.

Today did not start well. On the way to an 8 o'clock start at work, my trusty steed and I had an obstacle course consisting of several medium-sized lakes to navigate where there should have been a road.

We successfully managed five, but the sixth, a sort of not-very-mini-Windermere, proved too much. With a gasp, a shudder, and a soulful sigh, my steed succumbed in the middle of said lake and there we sat like a cross between Moby Dick and Titanic.

A helpfully passing mechanic pulled us out, but on inspection claimed that it would be write-off for sure as the engine was full of water.

A call to the RAC informed me that no, they couldn't attend without charging me £85 since the breakdown was caused by flooding and not by mechanical failure. It seemed to be pretty mechanically failed to me, I told the polite but firm lady on the other end, but to no avail.

I called my friend Adrian who arrived some 30 minutes later with tools and a pessimistic expression. He removed the plugs, and when I turned the engine over, four little fountains spurted into the air! He replaced all the bits but my steed still refused to revive.

It took two further repetitions of this before life once more was breathed into the seemingly dead carcass.

Amazingly, after a bit of coughing and spluttering and spitting out of water, the kiss of life seemed to have worked and I managed to get to work three hours late, and better still, home again after two and a half hours overtime to make up for the shortfall.

So now I am having a large glass of French red before some indulgent dinner, some more red and a bit of feet up, before the prospect of another day in paradise tomorrow.

And yes, last night was very nice. I do hope something comes of it.

May your weekend be less traumatic than mine!