Arse!
And October's Twat of the Month award goes to...
Me!
Yes, this morning in the torrential rain, I kindly offered to sort out the Batmobile and take it down to the office, so that the Horse Doctor could load it up with boards, posters and other whatnot to take to an Organic Farming conference in Builth Wells. I'm helpful, you see, even before breakfast.
We've given up parking the car by the gate here. Before the hedge was ripped out, little birds would lurk in there, waiting until I had just washed and polished, then come out and pooh all over the gleaming paintwork. I took to parking up by the garages - themselves too small to get a car like the Batmobile into, more's the pity - and when we ripped out the hedge, I saw no great need to change. The ground's flat up there, it's only a thirty second walk, and there's less chance of coming out to find the car has rolled across the road and into the bushes.*
So I strolled up, getting wet in the rain and noting how next door had parked their elderly Suzuki Swift a dozen yards behind the Batmobile. Five minutes to fold down the back seats and remove the parcel shelf, then I settled myself into the driving seat.
Or rather, I squashed myself into the driving seat. The Horse Doctor is a good bit shorter than me, and sits closer to the steering wheel. She had been driving last and it was still set up for her. Since I was only driving down to the office - no more than a couple of hundred yards - and then she was going to be taking the car, there was no point in changing the seat just to change it back. Start up, slip into reverse, quick glance in the side mirrors, giving a good view of the side of the car and the ground. Back up and turn and...
Crunch.
Bugger.
Arse.
Arse, arse, arse!
There's a horrible moment when you realise you've done something really stupid and your mind grabs desperately at the hope that it hasn't really happened. It's a bit like that mad cartwheeling you do with your hands and arms to try and stop falling off the edge of a cliff. You know that it's not going to work, but somehow you do it anyway. I sat for a long while just wondering how it was I could have forgotten my neighbour's car. I'd walked right past it just moments earlier.
And then I'd hit it. Done a respectable amount of damage, too.
My neighbour is a mechanic, and he'll mend this himself. But even so it's going to cost something for a couple of new light units. Fortunately the Batmobile is made of sterner stuff. It's sustained a mild scratch to its rump, which I'll hopefully be able to mend and polish at minimal expense.
To cap it all, I even managed to cut my finger picking up the broken glass. There are days when it's probably better just to stay in bed.
*this happened with the old car. The Horse Doctor didn't put the handbrake on properly one night, and forgot to turn the wheels in towards the hedge. The result was a knock on the door later that evening - the neighbours wondering if we'd meant to park in the trees.
Me!
Yes, this morning in the torrential rain, I kindly offered to sort out the Batmobile and take it down to the office, so that the Horse Doctor could load it up with boards, posters and other whatnot to take to an Organic Farming conference in Builth Wells. I'm helpful, you see, even before breakfast.
We've given up parking the car by the gate here. Before the hedge was ripped out, little birds would lurk in there, waiting until I had just washed and polished, then come out and pooh all over the gleaming paintwork. I took to parking up by the garages - themselves too small to get a car like the Batmobile into, more's the pity - and when we ripped out the hedge, I saw no great need to change. The ground's flat up there, it's only a thirty second walk, and there's less chance of coming out to find the car has rolled across the road and into the bushes.*
So I strolled up, getting wet in the rain and noting how next door had parked their elderly Suzuki Swift a dozen yards behind the Batmobile. Five minutes to fold down the back seats and remove the parcel shelf, then I settled myself into the driving seat.
Or rather, I squashed myself into the driving seat. The Horse Doctor is a good bit shorter than me, and sits closer to the steering wheel. She had been driving last and it was still set up for her. Since I was only driving down to the office - no more than a couple of hundred yards - and then she was going to be taking the car, there was no point in changing the seat just to change it back. Start up, slip into reverse, quick glance in the side mirrors, giving a good view of the side of the car and the ground. Back up and turn and...
Crunch.
Bugger.
Arse.
Arse, arse, arse!
There's a horrible moment when you realise you've done something really stupid and your mind grabs desperately at the hope that it hasn't really happened. It's a bit like that mad cartwheeling you do with your hands and arms to try and stop falling off the edge of a cliff. You know that it's not going to work, but somehow you do it anyway. I sat for a long while just wondering how it was I could have forgotten my neighbour's car. I'd walked right past it just moments earlier.
And then I'd hit it. Done a respectable amount of damage, too.
My neighbour is a mechanic, and he'll mend this himself. But even so it's going to cost something for a couple of new light units. Fortunately the Batmobile is made of sterner stuff. It's sustained a mild scratch to its rump, which I'll hopefully be able to mend and polish at minimal expense.
To cap it all, I even managed to cut my finger picking up the broken glass. There are days when it's probably better just to stay in bed.
*this happened with the old car. The Horse Doctor didn't put the handbrake on properly one night, and forgot to turn the wheels in towards the hedge. The result was a knock on the door later that evening - the neighbours wondering if we'd meant to park in the trees.
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