Post 458: A long day with U3A ups and not-so-Mini downs.
Sometimes you wish you hadn’t done that…
That thing you’ve just done.
Especially when you get hurt.
But more about that later.
Let’s talk about the Mini first.
The MOT wasn’t until 3 pm, so I had plenty of time to call my insurer to get my great mate, Mr A, added to my Mini insurance.
In my mind - which is one that panics so much about regulations and the law that I even drive myself mad by repeating the jobs I have to do and how to do them - getting this sorted as soon as possible was the main priority.
The cat, Mr Vicious, hadn’t been fed, and I was craving some fresh pineapple and yoghurt (again) for breakfast.
So, to stop the incessant crying outside my bedroom window and waking the neighbourhood, I told him in my best cat language, “Meet me downstairs because I’m not letting you in up here.”
It’s not right.
I don’t want to start that old game because, when the rain eventually comes, Mr V will have muddy paws, and I’m not having him traipsing around upstairs leaving muddy footprints for me to clean up.
Bloody cat.
Anyhow, I went downstairs and unlocked the kitchen door.
The hungry cat flew in past me as I stepped through the conservatory towards the garage where his food and bowl live.
He always manages to look as though he’s never been fed in his life, and today was no exception.
So I fed the poor old cat and left him to it.
Within seconds, some of the dry hypoallergenic food was scattered all over the floor in his haste to demolish his breakfast.
At least he enjoyed it.
I headed back to the kitchen, made my yoghurt and pineapple bowl and then grabbed the phone.
I should also say that I always close the sliding kitchen doors to keep my buddy out.
Today was a perfect example of why.
I was listening to all the familiar phrases we know and love:
“You are special to us…”
“We will answer your call as soon as we can…”
“We are very busy…”
“You can use our website or app…”
“Your position in the queue is…”
…well, you know the rest.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a movement.
I turned and saw a long, thin, feathery tail hanging from Mr Vicious’s mouth.
If cats could smile, it would have been the biggest grin imaginable because, no more than five minutes after I’d put his breakfast down, he’d caught a fledgling sparrow from the hedge.
This is where I was very grateful My Darling was still in bed.
Had she been there, she’d have shrieked in horror.
Instead, I calmly said, “Stormy… drop.”
A couple more times…
“Stormy… drop.”
And, to his credit, he did.
I picked the still-warm little body up from the conservatory lino, gave the poor little chap - or chapess - a respectful send-off to the big hedge in the sky, and returned to waiting for the insurance company to answer.
Eventually, I was released from the dreadful hold music and all the repeated messages of love.
Mr A was added to my Mini insurance so he could take the car for its MOT while I was at the U3A Creative Writing Club.
Job done.
Luckily, I’d already finished my homework for the writing group, so there was nothing left to do.
I switched on the TV in the lounge - the one with the blue sofa - and navigated to the “Continue Watching” section on Netflix (other subscription services are available… ha ha).
I started one of the many Korean series I’ve been following, but I just couldn’t concentrate.
So I wandered outside to the rather grubby Mini - the one that needed its MOT today, not the Cooper that acts as the back-up Mini - and started polishing the roof.
Now, bearing in mind my shoulders and lack of strength, this was always going to be a fairly half-hearted affair.
But I was going to give it my best shot.
I’d barely polished half of the black roof when the phone rang.
I expected it to be Mr A asking about the insurance.
Instead, it was Mot4U.
“How would you like to bring the car in at 1 pm instead of 3 pm?”
I replied, “Hang on, I’ll have to ask my mate who’s bringing it.”
Then I thought…
You idiot, Mr U.
You can take it yourself now and still make both appointments.
“Yes,” I said. “I can do 1 pm.”
“Great. See you then.”
By the time My Darling came downstairs from her morning rest, I had just enough time to explain the change of plan before leaving her to her own TV programmes.
By the way, My Darling is hobbling much better now.
With her three long shifts this weekend looming, she decided to ask her doctor for some advice.
She was filling in an online medical form, and I had just enough time to help her before heading out.
I pulled out the choke, turned the key and instantly had a Mini ready for anything.
Today, that meant an MOT.
So I headed around the bypass to warm the engine through and, six minutes later, it was sitting in the MOT bay being prodded and poked by the experts.
I sat in the sunshine outside the workshop and opened my Kindle on my phone.
After a while the car was finished and the tester came over for a chat.
He said, “There were a few things you’ll need to do fairly soon, and a couple that can wait… but yes, it passed.”
Well, I could have kissed him.
(Or throttled him.)
Then I realised I vaguely knew him and we started chatting.
Not about cars…
…about people we both knew.
Oh my.
We chatted and chatted until eventually his colleague pointed towards the next car on the ramp.
Bless him.
What a lovely surprise.
I left the MOT centre with a great big smile, I’ll have you know.
Brill-i-ant!
The alarm then went off for my 2 pm pills…
…and I’d forgotten them.
So I rushed home, took the Gabapentin, grabbed the Paracetamol (for the next damn alarm) and headed off to the U3A Creative Writing Club.
The meeting room was inside a care home very close to me, and there were already people parking up whom I assumed were fellow members.
I asked a friendly-looking couple - who I later discovered were John and Jill - if they were with the group.
They were.
So I happily tagged along behind them.
We all passed the security questions on the computer screen, which unlocked access to the lifts, and joined the rest of the group heading up to the second floor.
Inside the lift, one lady read the notice saying it could carry fifteen people.
Well…
There were only seven of us and I’ve no idea how another eight people could possibly have squeezed in.
Everyone’s personal space would have disappeared.
How rude.
Anyway…
A lovely large room was waiting for us.
There was a refreshment area with tea and coffee on one side and a large round table that we all naturally gathered around.
Ten people could easily have sat there, so our group of seven had plenty of room.
Above us hung some extraordinary light fittings - giant Polo mints, only much thinner - and the walls were decorated with large paintings.
It was a very chatty group and, as the afternoon went on, it became obvious that several members were a little hard of hearing.
One gentleman, Ralf, had brought along a Wi-Fi microphone and speaker in the hope that everyone would hear more clearly.
Sadly, the technology let us down, so we simply resorted to speaking a little louder.
After introductions, we each took turns reading out the homework we’d been set the previous week.
There were poems and short stories of all sorts of lengths and subjects, and I think we all learnt something from listening to each other.
Then the tea and cakes appeared, followed by more easy conversation, until order was restored for the next exercise.
One by one we were given a word and had to think of another word with the same meaning.
I didn’t dread it…
…but my mind kept going blank.
Time after time I simply couldn’t think of anything while everyone else seemed to manage much better than I did.
I could immediately see why it was such a useful exercise for creative writers.
Having several different words with similar meanings must make writing so much easier.
I, however, struggled almost every time.
I think that highlighted one of my weaknesses and something I really should work on.
Yes, really.
It would help enormously.
Even though I wasn’t very good at it, I was actually glad we’d done the exercise.
After all…
…isn’t that exactly why I’m there?
Yes.
I want to learn.
Eventually the meeting came to an end, although the conversations continued long after we should probably have left.
In the end we all headed back down in the lift, signed ourselves out and made our way home.
Outside, I carried on chatting for over an hour with a new friend, William, whose car had been parked next to mine.
Eventually he drove away, leaving me to climb into my own car.
Now comes the confession.
I hadn’t brought my Blue Badge.
So I’d parked in an ordinary parking space.
That one simple oversight led to a nightmare…
…and a painful injury.
I only had about the width of my head between the next car and my driver’s door.
Nowhere near enough room.
Should I have gone back inside and asked if the other driver could move?
No.
I’ll squeeze in, I thought.
While struggling to get into the car there was an almighty crack in my back, followed immediately by a sharp pain down my right-hand side.
Boy, oh boy…
What a stupid, stupid thing to do.
By the time I got home I could barely walk.
The night’s sleep…
…was no sleep at all.
Note to self:
Take the Blue Badge everywhere you go.
Everywhere.
I’ve now had to call in sick at work for the whole week.
Drat.
Just when I’d finally been given some more work.
Double drat.
In passing, My Darling has an early appointment with the doctor tomorrow for some advice.
I hope it’s good news.
Take care.
Sleep well.
———
U3a story -
Mystery
A mate took me to an old barn he said was full of pre-war vehicles. The cars didn’t interest me—I was there for a motorcycle.
It had apparently stood in a dusty corner for years, almost forgotten. It had belonged to the farmer’s brother, who had disappeared decades earlier, when they were both in their twenties. Unable to bear the memories, the farmer had covered his bike with a canvas sheet and stacked old furniture around it.
Peeking under the dust sheet I saw a black wartime motorcycle with girder forks and a huge leather saddle—the sort of bike collectors dream of finding, me too.
“It’s not for sale,” the farmer said. “It was my brother’s. I hate the bloody thing, but I’ll never sell it because he may come back” he said hopefully.
“What if I get it running?” I asked. “You don’t have to sell it to me, but surely it’s better as a runner than rotting away in here.”
After a long silence, he sighed.
“All right. Just get it running.”
We shifted an old pine table and several chairs before tackling the bike. The wheels had seized solid, and dragging it towards the barn doors took all our strength. Then it suddenly lurched free from us. The farmer fell backwards and rolled out the door, I lost my footing, and the motorcycle crashed onto its side.
As we picked ourselves up and dusted ourselves off, that’s when I noticed something extraordinary and terrible at the same time. The petrol tank had split open.
The crack revealed a hidden compartment inside of which was a parcel wrapped in a rust-stained cloth.
I eased it out and handed it to the farmer.
He carefully unwrapped it. Inside were a bundle of old ten-shilling notes and a black-and-white photograph. It showed his young brother holding a little baby with what must be the mum beside.
The farmer stared.
“I’ve never seen either of them before.”
He turned the photograph over. Written in faded black ink were the words:
If anything happens to me, please look after Pam and Tommy.
Below was an address.
He read it twice before looking up.
“My brother never had a wife,” he whispered.
His gaze returned to the photograph.
“And he never had a son.”
The old motorcycle had finally given up its secret.
But the mystery had only just begun.
