A Car with Spirit.

The person-who-doesn’t-live-here-any-more seems to have stopped haunting me for the time being, but her car hasn’t. I keep seeing it in various places when I hardly ever used to see it at all. Today it passed me on the lane when I was perusing the sheep and quietly minding my own business, and two days ago I saw it parked close to mine in Sainsbury’s car park. Last week I saw it on three days in succession.

So is it haunting me, stalking me, or neither of the above? I strongly suspect the latter; I strongly suspect it’s mere coincidence, even though there are those who insist that ‘there’s no such thing as coincidence.’ Nevertheless, it has occurred to me to wonder whether there are any exorcists who specialise in cars. It’s just that sometimes I go to bed fearing that I will be awoken in the dark early hours by the sound of an engine gruffly calling me, and I’ll look through the front bedroom window to see a dark blue VW Golf sitting at the bottom of my garden. When I go out to investigate, it will have mysteriously disappeared.

Now I’m being silly, aren’t I? Besides, it all adds a bit of colour to an otherwise unremarkable life so forget the exorcist. But isn’t it a sure indicator of just how unremarkable a life can be when it’s capable of being coloured by a dark blue VW Golf? It is. Duly abashed.

*  *  *

I just used up the last of my marmalade so there won’t be any more marmalade sandwiches for me until I can get a new jar. The connection between this unremarkable fact and the mysterious affair outlined above should be guessable to any long term reader of my jottings who is also familiar with Michael Bond’s most famous character. (It’s in the hat, just in case you need a hint.)