All is not going according to plan

The day after my final drive down from London, The Maxi stopped working. Trying to start it resulted in a noise somewhat like a big old rusty chain tumbling around inside a dry washing machine – on spin cycle. Not good.

I swear that car has a perverse personality. On this occasion, it was saying ‘I got you down here, now do the rest on your own’. Awkward, sodding machine.

Luckily, one of the first questions I asked my new neighbours, was if they knew someone who would be sympathetic to the whims of an aging, cranky Austin Maxi. Luckily, they did.

With this number, I called the breakdown service. The Maxi was duly collected, and taken off (in disgrace) to a garage in Ringmer.

Where it has remained ever since.

They ordered a starter motor, and were sent the wrong one. They ordered a new set of points, and were delivered a set with one missing. So all were sent back, and they (and I) are still awaiting correct parts (the postal strike is not helping here). After they finally get delivered, the goddamn thing had better start or its days are numbered.

And still no Internet. It’s far too long and boring a saga to get into, as by the time this is published, hopefully it will be sorted. But HOW CAN IT TAKE A MONTH TO FLICK A SWITCH AND CONNECT ME?

No-one said it would be easy.

Thank God for walking boots and a bicycle.