“Country’s gone to the bloody dogs,” growls Her Ladyship. “I mean,” she adds, “when some trades union whinger complains about a remark made in jest by Jeremy Clarkson on a TV show, I simply despair. We all know that he’s famous for polemic remarks like this. Mind you Old Girl, I agree, I think they should be shot. Country’s on its knees and they walk out on strike because they won’t be able to enjoy the gilt edged pensions they’ve become accustomed to. Meanwhile it is poor pensioners like me on my meagre income that have to pay for it in taxes.”
Oh God, here she goes again, on the bandwagon about something that she can do absolutely nothing about and it’s always me that gets the brunt of it. I mean, what does she want me to do about it? Lead a coup of septuagenarians to occupy County Hall here in Pembrokeshire and then declare UDI? I think not! Let’s face it without my engine; I couldn’t make it very far.
It’s always the same. Winter’s here and she gets bored, so she comes out to my garage and has a little rant at me. Oscar the asthmatic barking dog, having followed her out and expecting a trip through the countryside, notices that my engine isn’t there, shrugs his shoulders before heading over to a sunny corner for a snooze.
“It’s no use talking to him Old Girl, he doesn’t understand what I am on about. Considering the look on his face, I imagine he thinks I am off my trolley.” Well Madam, far be it from me to say, but if the cap fits and all that…
“Hang on a minute… It’s not windy today is it?” Well actually Your Ladyship, it’s rather a nice day and that is unusual here in Pembrokeshire. “Tell you what, I have a few hours to kill… And I have a large can of gunk… Why don’t I clean your engine compartment ready for a new coat of paint before your engine comes back? I think I’ll try out that new spray gun. I’ll just go and get changed.”
Moments later, she’s back. She rolls me outside, fills the spray can with this obnoxious chemical and starts the compressor. She then attacks my front end with the same enthusiasm that the ‘Asthmatic Barking Dog’ uses to attack a bone. Within seconds the air is heavy with this chemical cleaner and ‘You know who’ is kneeling on the ground having a coughing fit. “What the hell do they put in that stuff? I should instruct my solicitor”. This comes from a woman wearing no eye protection or a breathing mask.
A few minutes later, she is recovered and she clambers to her feet. “Right Old Girl, let’s wash that all off.” She disappears in to the garage and returns with a pressure hose. “This won’t take long,” she shouts as she powers the thing up. Now I always thought you had to hold tightly on to the spray head. Her Ladyship doesn’t and the ‘Asthmatic Barking Dog’ is the first to receive the high-pressure jet of water, almost rolling him over.
“Blast the thing,” she cries as she tries to tame this wildly swinging jet of water. A potted plant goes flying across the yard, smashing in to a wall. Then the jet of water finds its way in to the garage, throwing tools off the workbench and knocking my spares off the shelves. Eventually Her Ladyship manages to control this squirming snake and directs it towards my bulkhead. Unfortunately, she directs the water straight in to a concave section. It hits me and swirls round immediately and heads straight back out towards whence it came.
It takes a few seconds for Her Ladyship to switch the thing off and she stands there in front of me with water dripping from her forehead, nose and chin. She’s soaked to the skin. “I’ll think I’ll go and have a hot bath,” she says and turns on her heel to go back in doors… What about me then?
