‘Ah well, it can’t be helped,’ said the builder boyfriend. I call people who talk like that civilians. Nut jobs like me can’t process misfortune in such a way.
He shouted and screamed for two days about the accident and then he just got over it. ‘Ah well, it can’t be helped,’ he said, after telling me his insurance company was accepting liability.
‘Hang on a minute,’ I said. ‘Before you take the blame for the whole thing, you did tell them a police car drove the wrong way down the street, the car in front of you slammed on its brakes and you went into the back of them? You did tell them you have witnesses who saw the patrol car, never mind what the police are saying about it never having been there? Did you tell them you can’t work without your truck? You do realise, don’t you, that you won’t be able to afford the insurance on any car you can put your ladders in when they calculate the cost of the damage to that brand new Range Rover you took the back off?’
The BB shrugged.
Get Britain's best politics newsletters
Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in