Low life | 9 October 2010

My car overheated in slow-moving traffic so I rang the local garage and the man said bring it in on Monday and he’d have a look. I was anxious to find out why my car was overheating because if the head gasket was blown, it would cost more to fix than it was worth and I’d have to throw the car away. ‘What time shall I drop it round?’ I said. ‘Quarter to nine,’ he said.

I remember that, his being specific about a time. I dropped the car in on the dot and on the Friday I went round to collect it, assuming he had forgotten to ring to tell me that the car was ready. But it wasn’t ready. He hadn’t even had time to glance at it, to be honest, he said. His chief mechanic was away on honeymoon, he said, and he was working his way through a backlog of work.