So after forking out my cash to get my car repaired on Monday, you’d think that fate would be finished with me already. Uh uh, you thought wrong.
So yesterday as I returned from a long slog in the office, just as I entered the last straight towards home and right next to the train station, I heard a loud noise and yes, my front left tyre had indeed just ruptured its side wall.
Grinding to a halt (luckily I had just turned at a robot, meaning I wasn’t going fast), I pulled into a bus loading zone and got out to inspect the damage. Tears welled in my eyes when I saw that the damage to the tyre is indeed irreparable and without so much as a word or curse to anyone, I set about getting the spare out of the boot.
Removing the punctured tire went along pretty smoothly, but putting on the spare turned out not to be such a blessed occasion – as always I’d neglected to regularly check the pressure of my spare and yes, it was indeed as flat as a wishful 13 year old teenage girl looking in the mirror.
As luck would have it (just as it was with my breakdown on Saturday night happening so close to home), the heavens were at least smiling on me just a little, because my car happened to be parked exactly across the road from a BP garage, meaning I hoisted the wheel to my shoulder and trotted across the road to grab one of the attendants and get them to pump it for me.
So that crisis averted, I was back on the way home (after scaring off a hobo who came to offer his assistance with tightening the bolts just as I was busy on the last one), depressed at the thought of yet more money I need to shell out.
I’m almost too scared to ask what’s next? O.o