Rare excitement (Petrochemical version)
This week, I have been pottering about in Justyn's 9k Griffen while he fixes most of the things wrong with mine with which I have been putting up for some number of years. This sort of thing is stupid, but it is a thing one does. See also 'having a bone in one's leg', 'ow my rsi', 'oh just reboot it and see if it goes better' et al. When I say 'one', I mean 'everyone' obviously.
His car has two speeds - turbo not helping and crikey.
Anyway, I putting fuel in the thing down Morrisons and wondering what dickhead move one or more of the other drivers would pull...
Seriously. It's like cheap(er) fuel attracts the complete bell-ends that are either apprentice drug-dealers (they're not), self-righteous DMail readers or taxi pilots with a tenuous grip on physics. And. It's not like there's that much to be saved. A pee per litre is going to be something like a quid difference if you're one of the daft buggers who fill the tank, but there they are queueing in the middle of the road and getting all wavy fist if people try to get past on the way to somewhere else like grownups.
... and then the lights went out and all the pumps stopped. There seemed to be some running about and arm-waving going on in the kiosk, and after a few seconds it became obvious that the electricity wasn't coming back on again any time soon. I pottered over to the end of the queue to discover that some poor sod's car had started pissing fuel across the concrete apron, the fire brigade had been called and would we please carry on without EPOS kit.
It was like going back to the eighties, so I grabbed a copy of the NME (which is in a dreadful state) and watched as they dug the card-rolly machine out and blew the dust off the thing.
When I returned to the car-that-is-not-mine, it was to find a set of firemen shovelling magic sand underneath the Cavalier at the pump behind mine while a different set of people jabbered on their phones in strict disobedience of relevant heath & safety malarkey.
His car has two speeds - turbo not helping and crikey.
Anyway, I putting fuel in the thing down Morrisons and wondering what dickhead move one or more of the other drivers would pull...
Seriously. It's like cheap(er) fuel attracts the complete bell-ends that are either apprentice drug-dealers (they're not), self-righteous DMail readers or taxi pilots with a tenuous grip on physics. And. It's not like there's that much to be saved. A pee per litre is going to be something like a quid difference if you're one of the daft buggers who fill the tank, but there they are queueing in the middle of the road and getting all wavy fist if people try to get past on the way to somewhere else like grownups.
... and then the lights went out and all the pumps stopped. There seemed to be some running about and arm-waving going on in the kiosk, and after a few seconds it became obvious that the electricity wasn't coming back on again any time soon. I pottered over to the end of the queue to discover that some poor sod's car had started pissing fuel across the concrete apron, the fire brigade had been called and would we please carry on without EPOS kit.
It was like going back to the eighties, so I grabbed a copy of the NME (which is in a dreadful state) and watched as they dug the card-rolly machine out and blew the dust off the thing.
When I returned to the car-that-is-not-mine, it was to find a set of firemen shovelling magic sand underneath the Cavalier at the pump behind mine while a different set of people jabbered on their phones in strict disobedience of relevant heath & safety malarkey.