It is said that things often happen in threes, or for me at least .
Firstly, two eggs on the boil at brekkie reeked of those stinkbombs that are occasionally still dropped at school to clear corridors and torment teachers. One had to be aborted, showing a bluey hue when the shell cracked open to avoid any potential fall-out, or follow-through. Secondly, a dental appointment involving a filling seemed logical in the morning so that I could then continue house chores and car repair. Things got off to an awkward start as what seemed an age was spent by dentist and assistant tethering my teeth using floss then covering mouth agape with a plastic disc to stop bits of detritus flying. Hannibal Lecter would have cackled to see a similar masked victim suffering – and it was awkward to breathe; I couldn’t even aim accurately for the sluice dish as part of my mouth was numb despite a retry. Time to leave.
Apart from being stopped by a Jehovah’s Witness who handed me a leaflet, my walk home was relatively normal although I felt punch-drunk from the anaesthetic and probably sounded like Quasimodo’s cousin when acknowledging that leaflet. No wonder she crossed the road.
A simple rehanging of my shed door went simply then my plan was set to pull out the bumper bar of a newly-acquired Suzuki Splash. Now, I’m working in a narrow driveway with the nearest nose to the Splash’ which was the Punto which is a rare Automatic Speedgear, repaired by myself and ready for sale as is my 2012 Seat Ibiza estate sat directly behind the Fiat. My old bike chain was looped around the Suzuki’s bar then through the Punto’s front bumper towing eye. Under a pulsating tension relative to throttle application, the bar came back slowly; when bought it had been a centimetre from the radiator. Then I made a critical error.
Stepping half-way out of the Fiat with my left foot on the accelerator with driver’s door open by the adjoining hedge, without any warning, the chain came off and the Punto reversed into my Seat Ibiza which rammed into a Rover 25 – with towbar. I came to, noticing a neighbour casting a watchful yet concerned eye over me. Unscathed, I was saved by that hedge which absorbed the impact of the driver’s door that had been forced open obtusely and peeled back looking like those old suicide doors. I didn’t go back to the driveway for days as I couldn’t face the damage I had caused by my cockiness. The indignity of sitting on the open window ledge of the Fiat to bounce my mass on it to force the door to close, such was the dented crease along the hinged edge.
I should have had a liedown after the dentist. Getting a replacement door involved another story in itself.
Words are copyright of Sotiris Vassiliou
October 2016
