Throttle

So, grumble grumble car grumble. I love my car and rely on it for pretty much everything. Simultaneously I occasionally hate its greasy metal guts and wish it never existed. 

On Saturday, returning from The Essex Run (of charity shop centres) the trusty Peugeot, which has felt a little iffy anyway in recent weeks, conked out, good and proper. We’re talking rev go up, speedometer go down, conveniently on maybe the busiest road in London, the North Circ near Walthamstow. After struggling up from the Crooked Billet underpass, we find ourselves parked on a layby ringing the RAC.

80 minutes later, up he turns, and very efficient and bear-strength he is, and towed home, we are. Which leaves me with the next stage of the episode, for nothing is ever straightforward. I’ve now booked a tow-truck (£45! ouch!) to take her to the garage, where hopefully the clutch will be sorted out. 

I’m also required to be in the lovely Chelmsford tomorrow (so here’s hoping the tow truck man turns up in reasonable time) – I have a speed awareness course resulting from an overly trigger-happy speed camera in Chigwell to attend. My own fault, certainly, but dammit if it isn’t inconvenient. According to Traveline, the most efficient way to get there is, bus to Tottenham Hale, train to Stratford, train to Chelmsford, bus to Great Baddow, Three And A Quarter Hours in a course (haven’t even thought about what to expect…), then back to Chelmsford, train to Stratford, train to the Hale, bus home. Bleurgh.

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One Response

  1. […] nearest still available, presuming that it would be a nice simple journey in the wagon. Then the car breaks down and plans have to change. Having hung around in the morning for the tow-man to wheel away my car, […]

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