Car-lessness

So it turns out the car wasn't stolen after all. Towed, the fucking wanky bastards. Am in the process of complaining. Lots.

That's a fun conversation to have with a Vauxhall garage.

Me: Hello. My name is Laura Nunn and I borrowed an Astra from you on Saturday. Erm... could you tell me the registration number please?

Vauxhall: Erm, why?

Me: Just interested. Could I have the reg please?

Vauxhall: Why don't you go and look outside the window?

Me: There's something in the way at the moment. And I've hurt my leg. And also I'm at work. And other things. Can I please have the registration?

Vauxhall: Have you lost the car?

Me: No. Maybe. A bit, yes. It might have been stolen. I'm not sure.

So much of Monday was spent in a car pound in Bromley-by-Bow. Bromley-by-Bow confuses me. Because I always thought Bromley was near Kent but Bow is near me. My geography is poor enough for that simple place name to send me into a spiral of confusion and misery. So I got a cab. As if the £175 release fee wasn't enough, I thought I could nicely add an extra £13 to proceedings without too much trouble.

I will let you know how things go with the council. I wouldn't want to have to get nasty and write a more strongly-worded letter of complaint. But I will if necessary. I might even tut.