The good news first; Paddy the dog is fully recovered. This is such a massive relief for us all. He lives to fight another day.
The bad news is that things have started to go wrong. Starting with the Dyson vacuum cleaner, which has now been replaced by a Shark. I had no say in the matter; the Dyson was taken to the repair man (inappropriately named as it turns out), never to be seen again. And the next day, a bit like the tiger who came to tea, the Shark appeared, unannounced and uninvited, on our doorstep. I am not sure I would have chosen him. He is big and aggressive looking. And for some strange reason, he has headlights. ('For hoovering during a power cut,' suggested Mr C. Try again, brains!
'For hoovering in the dark,' he tried. Possible, but still, why not just turn the lights on, or wait until the morning.
I think it is more likely that the shark has headlights in order to appeal to a certain type of customer, along with its name. And on this occasion, it worked. It is big and heavy and aggressive looking, (too heavy for me to use, I whimper pathetically.) However, it does seem to be very good at its job, and I am making hay, almost fainting in simpering amazement at how much dust it has picked up from the carpets around the house. He will soon catch on, but until he does, it's a very welcome break for me.
I have been really quite desperate to get out as the non essential retailers reopened this week, but my car is also broken. The clutch has been weird for ages, maybe as long as a year or two, but I always put it down to wearing Doc Martens, which are quite broad and make me feel that I might accidentally hit the accelerator when I am aiming for the clutch. Never get old!!
The past couple of weeks, it has been noticeably worse, and I have started to lose confidence in my car, which puts me off driving completely. On Saturday I attempted to drive Marigold to Kingsthorpe. As I pulled out onto the main road, it became apparent that the problem was suddenly much more serious, and it was difficult to propel the car across the junction. I told her I would have to go back and we would make other arrangements to get her there. There is a roundabout at the end of the road to Kingsthorpe, and it was quite hairy getting onto that; a manoeuvre best described as a pitiful meander, but fortunately we were met with patience by other roundabout dwellers. The car drives well, other than when pulling off in first gear, and as we did not have to stop again on the journey back, we arrived home in one piece, I called the garage and they said they could fit us in the following week. I am so used to going nowhere, apart from local walks; another few days wasn't going to kill me.
I would love to be the confident driver I once was., but in the intervening years, since I passed my test in 1986, I have had too many close shaves, which have turned me into the big drip you see before you today.
Car problems and breakdowns were much more common when I first began driving and most people started out with an old wreck when they passed their test. It was deemed to be character building, part of the journey. The first car we had was a mustard coloured mini, held together by rust, which would overheat half an hour into any journey. A trip to Portsmouth to visit my brother would take many hours, (it was quicker to hitchhike), as we had to stop every 30 minutes and wait for the engine to cool down before continuing. It also had a dodgy starter motor, and would regularly conk out at roundabouts and traffic lights. I knew what to do to fix it - put it in third gear and rock it until it clicked. I would have kittens if this happened to me now, but thought nothing of it at the time. I am blaming it on quieter roads and the invincibility of youth.
Fast forward a few years to a Vauxhall Astra whose lights cut out in the dark in the middle of nowhere, on the back roads from Rothwell. I had no choice but to keep going, hoping that I wouldn't meet anyone, or if I did, that they would spot me in time. On another occasion it ground to a halt on a dark country road, and I had to abandon it, and walk along dark lanes until I reached the next village with a phone box. I keep cars for too long, but the final nail in the coffin for this particular car was when the driver's seat detached itself from the floor of the car as I was driving, which was a big problem as the seat moved backwards when I straightened my leg to press the brake.
These experiences have definitely affected how I feel about driving; I do not trust cars, and expect the same to happen again. The scariest thing that ever happened was when I was in my early 20s. The clutch cable snapped as I was driving South in heavy traffic, in the fast lane of the M1. Fortunately we were just on the approach to Corley Services and my strong beefcake passenger managed to wrench the gear stick into second gear and we were able to move, with hazards flashing and cutting across lanes to make it to the services lane, and to safety. This memory has been at the front of my mind every time I have driven my juddering, wavering car, which sadly no longer contains a strong handsome young man to save the day.
On Wednesday, my car was collected and an hour later, the lady from the garage called to say that the gearbox needs replacing, and could cost anything up to a thousand pounds. EEEKK! And might take a fortnight..
In the good old days, someone's dad would have fixed it. Cars were much simpler and every household, including ours had a set of metal ramps and a big toolbox full of spanners and widgets. My dad also carried a silver pressure gauge with him at all times, to check the tyres. He would always remind us 'water. oil, tyres' ahead of any journey, although one day it came back to haunt him, as he and my mum travelled home from Devon in the front of a fully laden tow truck. My mum, no doubt at his insistence, had stopped at a garage to check the water in the radiator but had forgotten to replace the cap. Our poor little yellow Volvo (with a grumpy teenaged me in the back seat in the picture above) overheated and had to be towed home. But after a stint on someone's ramps, it lived to tell the tale.
There have been so many changes for the motorist in the 35 years I have been driving. Back then, most people knew the basics of car maintenance, and I can even recall having lessons at school standing around a car with the bonnet up. We were taught how to change spark plugs and top up oil and water. (It would have saved a lot of money, had I taken note at this point. Although I only ever put oil in the radiator once!) We kept a battery charger in the garage. We carried cables with us in the boot, big thick red and black ones with clips on each end, and everyone knew how to bump start. Handles for opening windows fell off, so windows stayed shut. Door locks jammed, so passengers climbed over the other seat to get in. The aid of mechanics was sought in only the most extreme circumstances. Problems with cars were maybe more common, but also easier to fix. And I think cars and car parts are just much better now, and less likely to go wrong or fail. Which makes it all the more of a shock when they do.
Last weekend we went to a Buddhist Retreat in Thornby, to attend a mediation class called 'How To Combat Stress'. A friend of mine had stayed there when she was between jobs, and really enjoyed the experience. I was very intrigued and asked her millions of questions, part of me thinking as a writer, and what a perfect setting for elements of my latest book, but the other 80% of me thinking 'escape, peace, solitude'. It was beautiful; we walked around the grounds; a lake set in woodlands, a Jacobean stately home, a cafe that serves good coffee and cake. The gardens and cafe are open to the public, and the classes are easy to access; bookable online, and many of them can also be live streamed, although for me, the setting itself was a huge part of the draw. I went in feeling very stressed, and came out feeling calm, with less need to scream. We have been meditating every day since, and there is a lot to like. The class leader talked about not engaging with negative thoughts, and how to clear our minds. Who knew that instead of trying to find all of the things I have lost in there, it would be far healthier for me to just clear it completely, in the style of Marie Kondo. I am well known for faddism, and also for lack of willpower or ability to stick at things, but I feel like meditation is something I could do with hanging onto.
And although along with the rest of the country, I have spent the last year not going out, my experience has been far from peaceful, and maybe this is just what I need. Not just the meditation, but perhapsto be fully immersed, in this peaceful sanctuary.
A few pictures of our first cuddle with Otto, our grandson who was born in November. He's a beaut, and you can already see a very special bond between him and his Pop.
The last picture, with Paddy photobombing, makes me laugh so much. His message couldn't be any clearer.
WHAT ABOUT ME?
