Well, an interesting turn of events this evening. Just in case we were starting to feel too relaxed, we were involved in a car crash.
Not our fault, in case you were wondering.
Middle Sis and I were heading off to the hospital to see our lovely Mum (now out of intensive care and on the mend, thankfully), and as we drove along the street, a complete twat came tanking out of a side street, completely failed to stop at the junction, and smashed into the back of Middle Sis's car.
The impact pushed our car into the verge, where we sat looking at each other in shock for a moment, then we leapt out of the car like the A-team on a mission, and confronted the perpetrator.
Boy did he look scared. And with some justification. Two large, furious, already unbelievably stressed women were about to make his worst nightmares come true.
However, his abject and heartfelt apologies, his immediate acceptance of responsiblity and the rapid production of his insurance documents meant we didn't pound him into an oily smear on the pavement.
Middle Sis's car is badly dented, but drivable, and no lights were broken.
His car was much more badly damaged. Ha. Fuckwit.
The reason for his appalling lack of concentration? A fucking satnav. He was blaming his satnav as he leapt out of his car, whereupon Middle Sis delivered an eloquent, pithy and frankly scary lecture on the inappropriateness of trying to program your fucking satnav whilst driving along the road.
So. A little bit of additional stress to make our day swing merrily along. Gah.
Other news: I decided to go and get my hair cut, as I was feeling scabby and dull, and made a spur of the moment appointment at Toni and Guy's, a hair saloon* I have never visited before.
They have vibrating back massaging chairs which you lie full length on when you get your hair washed. That was worth the money alone. And I got the undivided attention of their head artistic director (I think that's what they said he was) who teased, tousled, snipped and primped my hair till I looked fab.
We shall see how long the glamour lasts, but so far I am very pleased with it.
*I love the idea of a load of cowboys sitting under driers having their roots done.
Showing posts with label car. Show all posts
Showing posts with label car. Show all posts
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Too cold for snow
Car insurance has been on my mind this week. Mine expires in late January, and every year we get a quote sent to us from our financial advisor*, along with a whole load of forms we fill in to get the policy renewed.
This year the letter arrived, I opened it, and saw that the quote for this year's insurance was a whacking £400. Four hundred pounds! Gah!
We haven't had any accidents.
We haven't had the car stolen.
We haven't even locked ourselves out.
Why is it so hideously expensive? Why? WHY? Whyyyyyyyyyyyy? I may have wailed this at Mr WithaY in the manner of a Victorian workhouse washerwoman.
He, as befits a man of wisdom and great understanding** merely raised an eyebrow and suggested I go online to find a cheaper quote. He even, in the manner of a cheesy tv advert, suggested a website I could use.
Gocompare.com if you're interested.
And hey, guess what, annoying though it is to be apparently living in a tv advert, it worked. Within about 5 minutes I had dozens of quotes for equivalent insurance (fully comp, legal protection, protected no claims, windscreen cover), only one of which was higher than the quote we'd had from the financial advisor.
In the end I picked not the very cheapest, but one of the lowest quotes, for less than £200. That is almost £200 less than the quote I was sent by the brokers. What the fuck?
I rang the brokers up to say I had found a cheaper quote for the same service. The nice lady I spoke to sounded genuinely surprised that I had managed such a Herculean task.
"Gosh! Where did you find that?" she asked me.
"On the internet," I replied.
"Where?"
Bloody hell. I know we're out in the middle of Wiltshire, but surely everyone has heard of the Internet...oh she meant which website. Heh.
I told her. I daresay the brokers never thought to do a five minute online price comparison.
Other news: Back at work, so far so good.
Trains were horribly delayed on Tuesday evening. I left work a bit early to catch an earlier train, missed it by 10 seconds (they were just closing the doors as I scampered up the platform), had to wait half an hour for the next one, which was almost half an hour late getting to my stop because of power failures all the way along the line, and ended up getting home at the same time I would have if I'd left work at the usual time.
Gah.
Still, it's been snowing here today. Was minus 6 as I left for work yesterday at 0630, and then when I came home at 8pm. Brrr.
*He gives us advice, we say we can't afford to do any of the things he suggests. It's a win/win situation.
**Has access to the Internet
This year the letter arrived, I opened it, and saw that the quote for this year's insurance was a whacking £400. Four hundred pounds! Gah!
We haven't had any accidents.
We haven't had the car stolen.
We haven't even locked ourselves out.
Why is it so hideously expensive? Why? WHY? Whyyyyyyyyyyyy? I may have wailed this at Mr WithaY in the manner of a Victorian workhouse washerwoman.
He, as befits a man of wisdom and great understanding** merely raised an eyebrow and suggested I go online to find a cheaper quote. He even, in the manner of a cheesy tv advert, suggested a website I could use.
Gocompare.com if you're interested.
And hey, guess what, annoying though it is to be apparently living in a tv advert, it worked. Within about 5 minutes I had dozens of quotes for equivalent insurance (fully comp, legal protection, protected no claims, windscreen cover), only one of which was higher than the quote we'd had from the financial advisor.
In the end I picked not the very cheapest, but one of the lowest quotes, for less than £200. That is almost £200 less than the quote I was sent by the brokers. What the fuck?
I rang the brokers up to say I had found a cheaper quote for the same service. The nice lady I spoke to sounded genuinely surprised that I had managed such a Herculean task.
"Gosh! Where did you find that?" she asked me.
"On the internet," I replied.
"Where?"
Bloody hell. I know we're out in the middle of Wiltshire, but surely everyone has heard of the Internet...oh she meant which website. Heh.
I told her. I daresay the brokers never thought to do a five minute online price comparison.
Other news: Back at work, so far so good.
Trains were horribly delayed on Tuesday evening. I left work a bit early to catch an earlier train, missed it by 10 seconds (they were just closing the doors as I scampered up the platform), had to wait half an hour for the next one, which was almost half an hour late getting to my stop because of power failures all the way along the line, and ended up getting home at the same time I would have if I'd left work at the usual time.
Gah.
Still, it's been snowing here today. Was minus 6 as I left for work yesterday at 0630, and then when I came home at 8pm. Brrr.
*He gives us advice, we say we can't afford to do any of the things he suggests. It's a win/win situation.
**Has access to the Internet
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Lights
Oh yeah. Was almost wiped out this morning on the way to work by a FUCKWIT in a dark blue car who was tanking along the road with NO FUCKING LIGHTS ON.
Why?
I mean, every other road user had lights on. Even the doddery old galoots with Nissan Micras had managed to find the right switch.
I was behind one of said doddery galoots (2 of them, and a huge dog up on the back seat glaring at me), so decided to overtake. It was a nice long straight bit of road, I waited till the hidden dip was past, nothing in sight for miles, and then put my foot down to go past.
And hey, guess what?
Heading my way at 80 miles an hour was said unlit, unseen till the last moment, fuckwit. I managed to get past and back onto my side of the road with, ooh, several inches to spare, and flashed him angrily.*
He's probably still wondering what my problem was.
If I see him again I will force him off the road and explain it to him. Slowly.
*With my lights. Tch.
Why?
I mean, every other road user had lights on. Even the doddery old galoots with Nissan Micras had managed to find the right switch.
I was behind one of said doddery galoots (2 of them, and a huge dog up on the back seat glaring at me), so decided to overtake. It was a nice long straight bit of road, I waited till the hidden dip was past, nothing in sight for miles, and then put my foot down to go past.
And hey, guess what?
Heading my way at 80 miles an hour was said unlit, unseen till the last moment, fuckwit. I managed to get past and back onto my side of the road with, ooh, several inches to spare, and flashed him angrily.*
He's probably still wondering what my problem was.
If I see him again I will force him off the road and explain it to him. Slowly.
*With my lights. Tch.
Monday, 25 June 2007
Inclement weather
I don't think it's stopped raining since Thursday night. That makes getting on for four solid days of rain. No wonder the roads are in such a state.
Driving to work this morning was distinctly scary. There are big patches of standing water everywhere, visibility on the dual carriageway was almost non-existent due to spray, and the verges on the more remote bits of the trip are starting to collapse onto the roads, promising roadblocks later in the week if we're lucky.
One of my colleagues was telling us about a nasty near-miss he encountered earlier today. A car in front of him hit a patch of water on the motorway, aquaplaned across a couple of lanes and smashed another car into the central reservation. My colleague was ok, but pretty shaken up, as you'd expect, having all that happen in front of him.
I am very glad I have a 4x4 with big old half-and-half chunky tyres. If I take it carefully I can pretty much get through anything. Within reason. Well, through mud and puddles, anyway.
Other than the weather, little of note has been going on in the WithaY household. Mr WithaY was supposed to go shooting on Saturday but it got called off. And why was this, you wonder?
Inclement weather? No.
Range too muddy? No.
Lack of access due to waterlogged roads? No.
The range apparently caught fire. Yes, really.
They've started using chopped up tyres as the backstop rather than the more traditional packed sand. Much cheaper. Great idea. But...
1) You can no longer rake out the brass cartridges to recycle them, as you can with sand. So, it's cheaper, but there's no recycling.
2) The bits of rubber end up getting scattered across the surrounding area which happens to be a SSSI (Site of Special Scientific Interest, American readers), so all the little rare creatures end up trying to eat them, or nest in them, or mate with them. I am guessing on that last one, not being a naturalist by profession.
3) And, lastly, and most excitingly, the bloody stuff is flammable. Unlike sand. And, when high-velocity rounds come winging into it, they can set it alight. Fantastic.
So poor Mr WithaY spend a slightly disappointed Saturday at home, in between ferrying me back and forth to the glass repair place, it being too wet to have them come and fix the car outside my house.
We watched Hot Fuzz on DVD on Saturday night. I enjoyed it more the second time around than I did at the cinema, oddly. Maybe because it felt more fitted to a small screen, lower expectations and all that. Last night we started watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy again. Got halfway through the first one before deciding we were too tired to see it all the way through.
Is it only me that wants to give Frodo a good slap every time he goes off into his "Oh no, I'm being summoned by the Dark Lord" fluttery-eye thing? Just STOP wearing the bloody ring! It's not difficult. You have ONE instruction you idiot hobbit, bloody well follow it. Gah.
It's not really a chick-flick, is it?
Still, the new Shrek is out any day now, which I am looking forward to. I love good animation. Maybe that's why I like Second Life so much, now I come to think about it. I'm hoping Channel 4 repeat their Studio Ghibli season soon. I missed some of them last time round. Bloody work. Getting in the way of my valuable leisure time.
Other news: What can I get my Middle Sis for her 40th birthday? I gave her a fab present earlier in the year but I can't turn up at her party without something with a bow on it. Maybe a tortoise? I hear they make great pets. Plus I could stick the bow straight onto the shell, saving on wrapping paper.
Although...Mr WithaY's life-threatening vomit-fest earlier on the year was most likely down to tortoise-handling. I reckon, anyway. So maybe not.
Driving to work this morning was distinctly scary. There are big patches of standing water everywhere, visibility on the dual carriageway was almost non-existent due to spray, and the verges on the more remote bits of the trip are starting to collapse onto the roads, promising roadblocks later in the week if we're lucky.
One of my colleagues was telling us about a nasty near-miss he encountered earlier today. A car in front of him hit a patch of water on the motorway, aquaplaned across a couple of lanes and smashed another car into the central reservation. My colleague was ok, but pretty shaken up, as you'd expect, having all that happen in front of him.
I am very glad I have a 4x4 with big old half-and-half chunky tyres. If I take it carefully I can pretty much get through anything. Within reason. Well, through mud and puddles, anyway.
Other than the weather, little of note has been going on in the WithaY household. Mr WithaY was supposed to go shooting on Saturday but it got called off. And why was this, you wonder?
Inclement weather? No.
Range too muddy? No.
Lack of access due to waterlogged roads? No.
The range apparently caught fire. Yes, really.
They've started using chopped up tyres as the backstop rather than the more traditional packed sand. Much cheaper. Great idea. But...
1) You can no longer rake out the brass cartridges to recycle them, as you can with sand. So, it's cheaper, but there's no recycling.
2) The bits of rubber end up getting scattered across the surrounding area which happens to be a SSSI (Site of Special Scientific Interest, American readers), so all the little rare creatures end up trying to eat them, or nest in them, or mate with them. I am guessing on that last one, not being a naturalist by profession.
3) And, lastly, and most excitingly, the bloody stuff is flammable. Unlike sand. And, when high-velocity rounds come winging into it, they can set it alight. Fantastic.
So poor Mr WithaY spend a slightly disappointed Saturday at home, in between ferrying me back and forth to the glass repair place, it being too wet to have them come and fix the car outside my house.
We watched Hot Fuzz on DVD on Saturday night. I enjoyed it more the second time around than I did at the cinema, oddly. Maybe because it felt more fitted to a small screen, lower expectations and all that. Last night we started watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy again. Got halfway through the first one before deciding we were too tired to see it all the way through.
Is it only me that wants to give Frodo a good slap every time he goes off into his "Oh no, I'm being summoned by the Dark Lord" fluttery-eye thing? Just STOP wearing the bloody ring! It's not difficult. You have ONE instruction you idiot hobbit, bloody well follow it. Gah.
It's not really a chick-flick, is it?
Still, the new Shrek is out any day now, which I am looking forward to. I love good animation. Maybe that's why I like Second Life so much, now I come to think about it. I'm hoping Channel 4 repeat their Studio Ghibli season soon. I missed some of them last time round. Bloody work. Getting in the way of my valuable leisure time.
Other news: What can I get my Middle Sis for her 40th birthday? I gave her a fab present earlier in the year but I can't turn up at her party without something with a bow on it. Maybe a tortoise? I hear they make great pets. Plus I could stick the bow straight onto the shell, saving on wrapping paper.
Although...Mr WithaY's life-threatening vomit-fest earlier on the year was most likely down to tortoise-handling. I reckon, anyway. So maybe not.
Saturday, 9 June 2007
Glass II - The Revenge
I got up really early today, in a state of mild anticipation.
Not because I was pleased to be home (although I am), not because I was looking forward to a day of leisure in gorgeous sunny Wiltshire (although I was). No, I was heading off to the glamorous metropolis that is Frome (look on a map, American readers) to get a new windscreen for my car.
They had told me that I needed to be there for 8.30, so I was up and out of the house by 8am. Which after my mammoth 3 hour flog down the motorway systems of Southern and Western England on Friday afternoon, I did not feel like doing. There was a degree of grumbling.
Anyhoo, I got to the glass place at about 8.45 after a diverting jaunt around Frome town centre. I swear, that place is like a maze. You have to visit every corner of the bloody town before you can leave.
Try it one day. Go to Frome and try and drive from one side to the other, say from the College to the big Asda (or as it is hilariously known in the WithaY household, Chavda) and see what happens. You'll be doing laps before you know it.
But I digress.
I parked up, went into reception, smiling hopefully and was greeted by a lovely affable young man. He knew all about my appointment, and things seemed to be going remarkably well. Until...
"Is that your car there?" he said, pointing at the only car parked outside the entire place.
"The one with the huge crack in the windscreen? Yes, that's mine."
"Oh." Pause. "Oh dear." Pause. "Is that the new type of windscreen for that model?"
I refrained from replying "I don't fucking know! I'm not a fucking windscreen specialist, like I assumed you were!" No, instead I was very calm and polite.
"Why yes, I believe it is. The insurance company confirmed that when I booked my car in (eleven days ago you slow slow SLOW glass replacement firm)." I didn't say the bit in brackets. That was in my head.
So, the long and the short of it was that they had managed to get the wrong windscreen in, despite me having confirmed with the insurance company AND the glass place over the phone that my car is the model with the NEW windscreen.
I am now having them come to my house on Tuesday to fit the new windscreen. Unless it's raining, in which case they won't.
This could go on indefinitely.
Oh yeah, the chap also went to some lengths to assure me how completely safe the windscreen in, but ruined it a bit by commenting "Of course, the crack will continue to creep down the screen." Fucking great.
As my morning was shot to bits, I went to the supermarket, got a huge pile of glorious summer fruit, some fresh croissants and the Saturday Telegraph and came home again.
The course was good. I was tired by Friday, well, we all were, but it was really worth while.
We had an evening session with a drumming group on Thursday night which I had been very wary of. In the end it was hilarious. The cooler full of beer and wine we were all scarfing back might have helped. Boy, do some of our group not have rhythm. It was an experience.
Jim called round this afternoon to pick up a few bits and bobs, it was nice to see him. And Mr WithaY is back from his diving trip later tonight after a week away. So hurrah!
Not because I was pleased to be home (although I am), not because I was looking forward to a day of leisure in gorgeous sunny Wiltshire (although I was). No, I was heading off to the glamorous metropolis that is Frome (look on a map, American readers) to get a new windscreen for my car.
They had told me that I needed to be there for 8.30, so I was up and out of the house by 8am. Which after my mammoth 3 hour flog down the motorway systems of Southern and Western England on Friday afternoon, I did not feel like doing. There was a degree of grumbling.
Anyhoo, I got to the glass place at about 8.45 after a diverting jaunt around Frome town centre. I swear, that place is like a maze. You have to visit every corner of the bloody town before you can leave.
Try it one day. Go to Frome and try and drive from one side to the other, say from the College to the big Asda (or as it is hilariously known in the WithaY household, Chavda) and see what happens. You'll be doing laps before you know it.
But I digress.
I parked up, went into reception, smiling hopefully and was greeted by a lovely affable young man. He knew all about my appointment, and things seemed to be going remarkably well. Until...
"Is that your car there?" he said, pointing at the only car parked outside the entire place.
"The one with the huge crack in the windscreen? Yes, that's mine."
"Oh." Pause. "Oh dear." Pause. "Is that the new type of windscreen for that model?"
I refrained from replying "I don't fucking know! I'm not a fucking windscreen specialist, like I assumed you were!" No, instead I was very calm and polite.
"Why yes, I believe it is. The insurance company confirmed that when I booked my car in (eleven days ago you slow slow SLOW glass replacement firm)." I didn't say the bit in brackets. That was in my head.
So, the long and the short of it was that they had managed to get the wrong windscreen in, despite me having confirmed with the insurance company AND the glass place over the phone that my car is the model with the NEW windscreen.
I am now having them come to my house on Tuesday to fit the new windscreen. Unless it's raining, in which case they won't.
This could go on indefinitely.
Oh yeah, the chap also went to some lengths to assure me how completely safe the windscreen in, but ruined it a bit by commenting "Of course, the crack will continue to creep down the screen." Fucking great.
As my morning was shot to bits, I went to the supermarket, got a huge pile of glorious summer fruit, some fresh croissants and the Saturday Telegraph and came home again.
The course was good. I was tired by Friday, well, we all were, but it was really worth while.
We had an evening session with a drumming group on Thursday night which I had been very wary of. In the end it was hilarious. The cooler full of beer and wine we were all scarfing back might have helped. Boy, do some of our group not have rhythm. It was an experience.
Jim called round this afternoon to pick up a few bits and bobs, it was nice to see him. And Mr WithaY is back from his diving trip later tonight after a week away. So hurrah!
Sunday, 29 April 2007
Clean at last
Me and the car. Hurrah.
I washed my lovely car today for the first time since I bought it (last July, if you're interested). It's been so dry for so long that the floods I used to drive through on the way to work have finally receded. This meant that the mud on the car was staying there, rather than being washed off by the deep puddles and splashdown zones all across Salisbury Plain. I can see my car from my bestest mate's sitting room window, and it looked pretty scabby, to be honest. So we went out there this afternoon and washed it. Mmmmm. Clean.
I was very good and resisted the urge to recreate the Zoolander "freak gasoline accident" scene with the hose too. I am definitely going to heaven.
We had intended to go the the famer's market this morning ("I'll have a tall blonde one please") but the parking was atrocious so we baled out and went to Sainsbury's instead, where I bought a wide selection of cough medicine (drowsy and non-drowy so I can keep myself awake OR asleep as I choose) and some truly evil looking (and smelling) throat lozenge thingies. They're black, smell of menthol and myrrh, and work remarkably well. The lady in the pharmacy assured me that the choristers at Winchester cathedral use them, so maybe my singing will improve too.
I have really missed playing my guitar over the weekend. Next time I will ignore the voice in my head saying "your mate hates to hear you practice" and just pack it into the car before I set off. Especially as I was getting the hang of "Chance" by Big Country. Only the chords and the vocals, but it was sounding pretty good.
I washed my lovely car today for the first time since I bought it (last July, if you're interested). It's been so dry for so long that the floods I used to drive through on the way to work have finally receded. This meant that the mud on the car was staying there, rather than being washed off by the deep puddles and splashdown zones all across Salisbury Plain. I can see my car from my bestest mate's sitting room window, and it looked pretty scabby, to be honest. So we went out there this afternoon and washed it. Mmmmm. Clean.
I was very good and resisted the urge to recreate the Zoolander "freak gasoline accident" scene with the hose too. I am definitely going to heaven.
We had intended to go the the famer's market this morning ("I'll have a tall blonde one please") but the parking was atrocious so we baled out and went to Sainsbury's instead, where I bought a wide selection of cough medicine (drowsy and non-drowy so I can keep myself awake OR asleep as I choose) and some truly evil looking (and smelling) throat lozenge thingies. They're black, smell of menthol and myrrh, and work remarkably well. The lady in the pharmacy assured me that the choristers at Winchester cathedral use them, so maybe my singing will improve too.
I have really missed playing my guitar over the weekend. Next time I will ignore the voice in my head saying "your mate hates to hear you practice" and just pack it into the car before I set off. Especially as I was getting the hang of "Chance" by Big Country. Only the chords and the vocals, but it was sounding pretty good.
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