Friday, May 22, 2009

Rubber fetish revisited

£12.99 from Tesco, just a little trim needed.

A busy afternoon is rushing away from me. The new rubber mats are installed in the car, only a few easy snips and cut fingers later. That had followed an encounter with a petrol station car vacuum cleaner. A new experience and one I'm not likely to repeat. After wrestling with this great suctionless hissing snake for a few minutes I realised that it had about as much breath as Grandpa Simpson walking into a blizzard. It was not providing an ideal platform for the pristine set of mats about to go down - I try but I fail. Grump.

Then arranging an odd selection of groceries, a rigid bass guitar and three large robot Transformers (= the needs of three grandsons), sundry left over items and a large and mysterious birthday present not destined for me into the reluctant boot space of Mr Cougar who needs an oil top up. Prior to this I'd had a long conversation with a motoring expert, a bloke who runs a garage, about where and when to use mineral and synthetic oils. The handbook of course advises various things described in number form but that assumes you know what's blubbering around inside your engine anyway. I was just on the point of understanding when he hit me with the sucking in air, clenched teeth, classic remark, "of course a lot of manufacturers use semi-synthetic oils these days". Groan.

Late lunch was to be a quick Burger King Whopper enjoyed alfresco at home. After leaving the Tesco jungle I sped into the BK drive through, grabbed the big bun and headed home. Sadly that was not to prove straightforward. The pot hole menders were out in force and had managed to block the main road whilst unloading a much needed tractor, a finger tapping, burger cooling delay followed. Then I found my usual easy right turn blocked by more abandoned yellow vehicles so I took what I imagined would be a speedy detour. This time it was a white van, stopped in the middle of the lane giving directions to a family of lost cyclists. When I finally arrived home a builders pick up (with a grinning radiator face) was parked across our entrance and so I abandoned all hope of a hot snack. Happiness is of course a warm bun, but under certain circumstances you take whatever you can get. Hmmmph.

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