Cars and Mysterious Woes.

I come home after a few hours out and immediately feel guilty because I haven’t made a post since the last time Sheffield visited. (Do you think you might advance and be recognised one of these days, Mr, Mrs or Ms Sheffield? I do realise you almost certainly don’t live in Sheffield.)

The reason is, of course, that I’ve been out tripping the light fantastic in the little sports car, zipping him niftily over hill and dale (or along dual carriageways, through the city, and over road junctions if you’d prefer the prosaic.) That red Mazda MX5 (I believe they’re called Mazda Miattas in America) is a bloody nice car to drive. I think I want one.

The purpose was to deliver him back to Nigel and collect the refurbished Mr Renault. Nigel outlined all the trouble it took to replace wiring, fuses, housings and so on, and assured me that he’d tested everything over and over again, and it was all working perfectly. I tried the wipers and they stuck mid-screen again.

‘How the hell did you manage that?’ asked Nigel.

‘I think I must have a way with cars,’ I replied gloomily. ‘Or maybe it was Mr R having his little joke.’

‘I’ve run them loads of times and they worked perfectly every time. It’s you. You’re jinxed.’

Given my experiences over the last couple of years, that wouldn’t surprise me at all, so I tried them again several times and they did exactly what they’re supposed to do. What will happen the next time it rains is anybody’s guess.

On the way home I discovered Mr R had developed a couple of noises that weren’t there before – a sort of scraping, knocking noise on the front end when driving on bumpy roads, which doesn’t sound serious, and a hum from the exhaust, which might mean further trouble a little way down the line.

Hey, ho.