You’re only young once…..but you can be immature for a lifetime……..maturity is overrated

Not a quote from a song but from the Birth Date card send to me by son’s mum and his step dad. Oh, and she’s also my accountant……she seems vaguely familar somehow.

So in a week when The List published the first in a series of classified ads offering the services of as a dissertation reader and editor but added a typo to it (!), when I got new lenses costing £170 fitted and when journalistically I phoned a woman on her mobile only to discover she’s at the vet having her dog put down…….I want to talk about my car.

Bear with me dear listener, this is no ordinary blog about bad service, say, this is a jt850 blog.

So the Saturday morning after my Birth Date I had a very pleasant socially business cup of coffee down Byres Road and then headed home. Just before I arrived on the Maryhill Road I drove over a speed bump. Within seconds I was smelling the smell and feeling the shake, the rattle and the roll. I drove off the Maryhill Road onto the Lochburn Road.

This is a  road which is nowhere near a loch or a burn. It is next to the Forth and Clyde Canal. In Maryhill. It is a very thin road.

At the end of this road is a new private housing development with a ‘4 bedroom duplex with private garden and sun terrace for £137,950’ and you can have ‘breakfast on the balcony’. Overlooking the Forth and Clyde Canal. In Maryhill.

The main landmark in the ad showing you how to get there is Maryhill Police Station (useful) whose car park has been firebombed at least twice in recent months, presumably from the grassy knoll on which they built the Health Centre. But I digress. Lochburn Road.

I stop the car. I get out. I kick the tyres. I get back in. WTF else do you do?

I turn left into the Cadder Road which must be one of the biggest widest streets in Christendom. Sarah Palin is closer to Russia than numbers 1 and 4 are in the Cadder Road (No. I don’t know why I use the word ‘the’ when talking about some streets.) 

A tyre blows. The passenger one. The offside one. The nearside one. The one played onside by a defender. I don’t know what they’re called. It goes bang. Loudly. The car slews into the kerb. I’m very lucky. No parked cars. No mums with triplets in a big buggy stepping off the kerb. No Orange Walk. It was that Saturday. Not just another one, but that one.*

*I wonder who will understand that reference…………?

This has two effects; half of those around jump over hedges thinking it’s a gangland assassination; the rest come over and see if I’m okay. I’m fine. Shaken but not stirred. Like my women. Okay. A touch thrown but otherwise okay.

I call the AA. (At this point, dear listener, I will go and make a coffee while you fill in your own gags. I’ve done them all already) Smashing wee AA  guy comes along, sees it as a Euclidean challenge and two hours later we’re offloading it in the forecourt of Arnold Clark’s in Bearsden…………Part One ends. Ad break.

Have you ever thought about having your holidays in Summer’s town? Our high rise flats have recently been refurbished.

Or feed the pigeons in the Asda Car park – others do(o)

Or take the free bus to the Acre Road flats. And come back.

Part Two. A few days later. To Arnold Clark’s to pick up the car and the bill. It’s £622…………I complain. Not that unhappily but on the basis that altho’ I agreed to the work, I didn’t agree to all these prices.

But, dear listener, I had done. And how do I/we know that? They played me a recording of my conversation with Graham the serviceman from earlier in the week. I gave in. I am so embarrassed, not because I got caught out (I’ve done similar but never broadcast) but because I had tried to play the laddish testosterone world of knowing cars. I hated myself. I don’t even watch Top Gear. I, yes, me, I think Richard Hammond should grow up and get a proper haircut. But that applys to all three (?) of them.

I agreed to pay.

It’s okay. I have a credit card I haven’t used for ages. Its PIN is in the computer folder called Kleenex Tissues (No. No reason) and it has 69 in it. Unforgettable. Whatever way you look at it. Except Arnold doesn’t take AmEx.

I have a debit card and it has an overdraft facility. I’m fine. Its number is *&^”, or is it *^&”? Of course I get it wrong. Twice.

At this point the PLONKER alarm has gone off within the salesroom and all the salesmen have stopped showing each other their new ‘Wallace shags Gromit’ mugs and are all watching me. The very nice woman behind the counter, Fiona, says ‘We can put it through as a phone transaction, if you like?’ and we do. The nightmare is over.

I drive off giving them all the sign of the devil and flipping my middle finger at them. In my head. The combo of new lenses and good steering is a mighty one to control and I wonder how safe I was before. Indeed, how safe are you now when you drive?

So there you go. Ho and hum.

Roll closing credits.

To two brilliant women who kept me sane during the week; to the lovely W for ALL her thoughts this week and for telling me about Paul the psychic cephalopod long before anybody else had noticed his existence. Our money always was on Spain (ta xx); and to the shapely L frae Troon who also shared so much with me, including her recipe for smoked smorgasbord (ta xx)

cya and keep(ing) it fun

Johnt850, aka the Summerston Tourist Board

Highways hard in this modern world
Battered boys and shattered girls
Leather bombers that rule the streets
Setting fires and living heat

Let me tell you what we been doing
Neon angels on the road to ruin
Let me tell you what we been doing
Neon angels on the road to ruin

The Runaways



One Response to “You’re only young once…..but you can be immature for a lifetime……..maturity is overrated”

  1. Gravura Andrei Says:

    Super writing. You have gained a new fan. Please maintain the fabulous posts and I look forward to more of your newsworthy updates.

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