Jannism

Breakdown

About six months ago, my car decided it didn’t want to start. It’s a big, fuck-off Audi and it wasn’t the behaviour I’d come to expect from it but such is life.

I have breakdown cover provided by my bank (I pay for the privilege but the level of cover I get is well above the basics and I get annual family travel insurance too, saving me an absolute fortune, so who’s complaining?). Unfortunately for me at the time, the breakdown cover was for Judith’s car - an ageing VW Golf which, incidentally, had never required roadside assistance - so I decided I would telephone the breakdown company and ask if I could transfer the cover to the A6 and then request assistance in the morning.

For all the crap customer service we’re all too often subjected to in this great nation of ours* I was both shocked and overjoyed with what happened next.

“That’s your cover transfered , Sir. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?” mono-toned the call-centre employee with whom I was engaged in relating every last minutae of detail about my personal particulars.

“Erm, yes.” I replied. “My car’s broken down. Can you send someone out to fix it, please?” I continued, expecting an answer firmly in the negative.

“No problem, sir. Would this be the Audi?”

“Yes.”

Fortyfive minutes later, job done. Turns out it had lost compression when parked in a particularly draughty spot (honestly, wtf?) - a common occurance in such weather with such cars and one which didn’t phase the recovery bloke for more than a second.

Yesterday I parked my car in the exact same spot for the first time in about six months.

The Golf is now 14 years old and has never needed recovery.

I think there may be a lesson here, somewhere.

* This is me paraphrasing Mr Tony Blair, for the sake of my mother who thinks I should mention that the soppy twat has resigned.**

** When I say soppy twat I mean it affectionately. I’m not a Blair-basher as such, I just think he’s a cunt.