I was nervous. I thought I’d wake up, peer out of the curtains and there would be three feet of snow and clear blue skies. But no, bogging pishy horror lay outside, now that’s a Monday.
This continued as the boilers I went to service lay inside an unexpectedly locked and empty building. My view of this being a proper Monday was reinforced.
I then went to my folks to see Holly who hangs out there while we’re at work and they were away to the shops. It was going well, until…
Phil texted me, which made me phone Elaina, which meant that we were all in the Tiso cafe within an hour eating Thai Green Curry and cake. (thank you misses). Joy! It came up in converstaion that a Decathalon store had opened at the Fort shopping centre out the east end, so we hurried away into some horrendous traffic to go and find it (via the bank, who wouldn’t accept a cash deposit, now there’s a story worth passing on).
The Fort apparently had no Decathalon, but with concerted use of mobile internet we discovered that it’s welded onto the big Morrisons on the way in, so a short hop and we were there. It’s a vast shed of stuff, but in a different way to GoOudoors, Decathalon at least make their own gear so it deserves to look like a supermarket, GoOutdoors is just cheap and nasty.
We wandered the many aisles, poking, prodding, trying on. I wanted a pink camo sleeping bag for Holly and a brown padded jacket that looked very 70’s, but sense took over and I resisted. I was supposed to be taking dinner home, if I went in with outdoor gear instead there would be a “conversation”.
Elaina got into trouser mischief and made some purchases, Phil mostly stood grinning at my inner turmoil as I tortured myself with self doubt over buying an orange baselayer t-shirt.
“It’ll be rubbish”
“But it’s orange”
The journey home was fine, the roads were surprisingly quiet. I was now running late, so I took a gamble and got home with tasty hot pizza in a box. Luckily it was well received and I was hero for, oh, seconds at least.
“Where’s your car?” I asked Joycee.
“It’s broken down at your folks”
Ah, that’s right it was still Monday after all.
I went round and got it started. Hmm, low on fuel. I run around to the BP garage and fill it up, get some milk and bag of cola chews.
I put the milk on the passenger seat, fastened the seatbelt, pressed the button, ahaahaahahahah bump. Nothing.
My heart sank. Repeated button pressing brought nothing useful. My old man came round to help (all this is happening only a mile from home) and we couldn’t tow it as Renault don’t have proper tow loop, there’s just a “hole” (Yes, yes, I found out later how to work it, but this at 2100 in the rain in a car that isn’t mine), so we pushed it away from the fuel pump and Jimmy went home as I went for a latte from the garage.
Two and half hours later the RAC arrived. The boy in the big orange jacket got in and it started first time for him. I’d been trying it every ten minutes and there was nothing happening for me, the only appropriate response was “Jammie bastard”.
It had been parked on a hill with low fuel, air had gotten into the injection system and screwed up the ignition. The constant trying had worked it out and it was now clear. Oh. Happy. Day.
I got home pretty much on Tuesday, pretty pissed off, and bloody cold too.
Hey, at least it was, by and large, a proper Monday.