She's At It Again...

“Guess what Old Girl?”  I hate it when you know who bursts in with that eager look on her face.  “Well, come on, guess what?”  What does she expect me to do?  She can’t hear me, but I do wonder what all the excitement is all about.  If she tries to contain herself any longer, I think she’ll wet herself.

“We’ve finally got a publishing deal together, Old Girl.  Your diaries are going to appear in print as well as an E book…  It’s not going to be just a Kindle anymore.  It’s absolutely brilliant and you will become a famous author…  Book signings and all that.  What do you think of that then?”

Well, to be honest, I couldn’t care less.  I’m about to be 78 and all I want is a quiet life, I am not interested in this book.  Correct me if I am wrong, but wasn’t this book all your doing?  You helped yourself to my diaries and turned them in to a book.  It’s really nothing to do with me.

“Matador, they’re the publishing company say we can launch it on 1^st July 2012.  Apparently it takes that long to get all the pre-publicity out.  But printed versions of the book should be available in the spring.  Brilliant huh?”  I am trying hard to look as disinterested as I can, but as usual she doesn’t notice.

“Hopefully the book will be out when we go off on the JOGLE…”  Please don’t remind me.  I really don’t want to know about that particular event.  She stares into my empty engine compartment, probably like me wondering whether the engine will be back in time for her to do the run.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot.  We are going to put magnetic signs on your door to promote the book.  That way as people admire us as we go past, they will see you’ve done a book.  How about that then?”

I wonder who it was who said, “Well frankly my dear, I couldn’t give a damn.”  Because  I know exactly how he felt.

Here we go again!

It all happened last week. Her ladyship had burst in to my garage. “Happy New Year Old Girl. I trust you are comfortable.” Madam wandered aimlessly around, fiddling with things on the bench, opening the tool box and then closing it again.

“Now I have some news for you and I don’t know how you are going to take it. I’ve decided that we should take part in the JOGLE. And before you ask, it’s going to be a run from John O’Groats to Land’s End and we shall be doing it over Easter. This year is the 90^th anniversary of the Austin Seven and this run is to celebrate that. You’ll enjoy it, especially as there will be lots of your relatives taking part.” She then started to fiddle with some paint pots on the shelf. She knew exactly how I would feel about this, I had thought that after that run to Spain, she would have realised that the time had come for us both to ease up and rest. But it seems not… Well, not yet.

“It’ll be about the same distance as we did last year, about 2,000 miles by the time we’ve got to the start in John O’Groats and then home from Land’s End.” I didn’t know why she felt it necessary to explain all the gruesome detail. It was a ridiculous idea. I knew what would happen. I would have to slog my way along all these roads listening to her moaning on about the roads, the other cars and their drivers. And she had obviously not considered the trouble she would have with her Haemorrhoids!

“It’ll help promote your book as well. How about that? But Old Girl, I’ve held back the best bit of news.” I thought I’d taken in enough news for one day. Now there was to be more. But this turned out to be a genuine surprise.

“You are going to have some heart surgery. I’ve arranged to have your engine rebuilt. You Old Girl are going to have what is in effect a new engine. It’s going to be completely stripped down and rebuilt in a way that I think even you will appreciate. You will have more power; you’ll be able to go faster. In fact, you’ll feel like new. What about that then?” Well if what could I say? For once, something she said sounded rather nice.

“Therefore in a couple of days, we are going to take your engine out and send it away.”

So here I am, I’ve been drained of oil, drained of water and Her Ladyship with her friends, the nice Mister John and the nice Mister Ed are plunging in to my nether regions with their screwdrivers and spanners. Then…

Clunk… “Right that’s it,” says the Nice Mister John. “We need to pull it forwards and then tip it up and it should come straight out. Did you disconnect the battery?”

“Whoops no,” says Her Ladyship. “We don’t want that shorting out do we?”

Now I’m watching my engine being drawn out forwards and I am beginning to feel very, very tired.