I had a nice dress, I had matching shoes, I had even bought a fascinator (little hat thing that perches on your head). I was off to the wedding at the Barbican.
My car had other ideas. "Turn right," said my sat nav, Jessica. I turned right. The car didn't seem to want to accelerate again. "Drive 650 metres," Jessica instructed. The car refused. Across three lanes of traffic on Great Eastern Street, right in the middle of the Congestion Zone, I broke down. What with the little feathery hat and all, I wasn't exactly inconspicuous when I popped the bonnet up to take a look at the engine.
Because I'm obsessively early for everything, I still actually managed to make it to the wedding on time, but I think this may be where me and my little car part ways. Its cam belt has gone (again), which usually means the engine gets knackered. And as it's a K-reg Vauxhall Astra, it's probably not worth saving it.
They say your first car is like your first love. Unreliable, slow, a bit bashed-looking and far too old for me.
Jessica is bereft.
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