My love/hate relationship with my garage. And Wicked.

The beginning of June did not start well. My car's service, tax and MOT were all due throughout the month (I didn't plan that, honest!), and with a road trip to the west country coming up, I had to coordinate what I would get done before and after the trip. Especially with holey exhaust and radiator - not that they were particularly bad then - and the cam belt was well overdue for change.

As things turned out, I decided to have it all done before the road trip, as I had a 60mile round trip to Dover for my birthday party on the Saturday, to bed parts in and time to take her back to garage if there were any niggles left over.

I left my car (aka Ghostie) with the garage with their complete assurance that it would all be easily done by Friday afternoon.

On Friday afternoon I got a nervous phone call from the garage manager saying that car would not be ready after all, as Ghostie did not wish to be parted from her old cam belt. I agreed that I would bring her back the following week for any work not done, but that I must have her Friday evening.

Very nervous and apologetic manager called back at the end of the day and advised that Ghostie had finally given up her old cam-belt. But, they couldn't have her ready for me, because she needed an unanticipated new part that wouldn't be in until Monday.


But I need my car, I said. Not a problem, said he. This garage didn't do courtesy cars, but they would pay for a taxi. Now, my most reputable local cab firm only does Mercedes.

Which means that, for anyone I care to tell, I took a chauffeur driven limo to and from Dover, lah-di-dah, where I was well-fed, watered and entertained with good parental company.

Since the garage offered goodwill without me having to argue, I decided to be gracious and told them they could keep Ghostie until Weds. It was more convenient for me too, but don't tell them that. Also, since they clearly broke my car, I very definitely did not want them trying to do a rush job fixing it.

I had a balance to pay, and fully expected 'extras' to be added to off-set the taxi, and recoup the 'unanticipated parts'. But no, they stuck to the original quote (which had been reasonable), and 1000 miles later, the job seems to have been good.

On the Tuesday, we went to see Wicked at the Apollo Victoria. We were right at the back, but could see everything. The seats, however, were the tiniest, squinched in things in existence. They made charter airlines look positively generous. We all sat with pony tails, back of heads and other hair peices between our knees and were conscious of the people behind's knees next to our ear.

It was a good job we were all girls, as even the side ways space was non-existent to the extent that the girl next door and I kept getting our drinking straws mixed up.

The show itself was fabulous. For those who don't know, it's basically the Wizard of Oz from the witches point of view. Lots of laughing and sniffling.

More later!