After another stressful morning – this time arriving down to all the pans and plates used in last night’s meal, which I for once had no involvement whatsoever. And as if cooking the oh-so-sophisticated and cuisine-skilled Pasta al cheese could create so much washing up, but how wrong you are. Needless to add, by morning it was cold, congealed and all kindly left for me. Welcome to MONDAY.
By the afternoon I’d really had enough, so if the word ‘shit’ hasn’t seeped into Marie's vocabulary then I gave the word ‘fuck’ a really good go when I went to switch the car on at the school, and it wouldn’t turn on. With all the car problems I’ve ever experienced, I knew from last time that it was the battery. Again. To cut a long story short, we were eventually saved by Crazy Caroline’s father. He drove the girls to Tennis, and for once it was nice to sit in the passenger seat (with the added bonus of heated seats!), despite having to painfully watch him take detour after detour, ending up with a half-hour car journey to Tennis.
We returned to the car to charge it up via his, and through a lot of pointing and VERY un-comprehensive French, I managed to show him how to lift the bonnet of his car up, and when he was trying to tear up his engine looking for the battery, I attempted to explain that the cables clip under the lid of the battery. (Not exactly rocket science, although maybe this SuDoku is doing more than I expected for my brain!)
So now the whole family think I’m some miraculous mechanic, despite the fact I was standing between the cars clutching my bag which my Aunt says ‘looks like a mauled cat’, and pointing my finger at various engine parts. I feel like one of those tomboy-girls from Chick-flicks who say 'I grew up on a farm with seven brothers...'.
If the car’s broken again tomorrow, it means I get the Renault Clio again. I really hope it won’t start. *sneaky laugh*
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