More on the accident
Our dead car is still in our drive. I suspect it will remain there for a while, before any work can be done, while the insurance people thrash things out. We might be able to get a courtesy car to take us to the mainland this weekend, but might not.
Pellinor phoned the insurance people yesterday, who said that the work had to be done at one of their approved garages. They typed in our postcode, and said, "There's one only ten miles from you. That'll do." Er, no, Pellinor pointed out. That was in Portsmouth, and there's a pesky bit of sea in the way. After much negotiation, they agreed that an island garage could do the work, as long as they came out first and gave a quote, and the insurance people accepted it.
Then, an hour later, the insurance people phoned up again. "We've contacted the garage that's supposed to be doing the work, and they tell us there's a pesky bit of water between you and them. It won't work out! Oh woe, woe, woe is us!" Yes, Pellinor patiently explained. We've gone through all this before, which is why it's been arranged that an island garage is doing the work. "Ah," they said. "That's why the paperwork says that you're using a local garage and it's all been sorted out beforehand and we're not to contact the one on our books. It turns out that reading the "important: please read me" section on a form is actually useful after all."
Then some chap from the island garage turned up to look at the car, but did so at 6 p.m. "It's dark," he said, in dismay. "I can't see the car properly. I'll have to come back tomorrow in the daylight."
I think this is going to turn into a rather long and irritating saga.
I debated on whether to tell my Mum about the adventure. I phoned last night to say we'd got home. "Did you have a good journey?" she asked. "Well, actually, no..." I said, in the sort of voice that implies that there's a story here. "Good," she said, and proceeded to chatter on about this and that.
Later, she said, "Did Pellinor have a good day at work? Is he home yet?" "Well, he is home," I said, "but..." "Good!" she said. "That's nice! You can have a nice evening in." At the end of the phone call: "Well, I'm glad you had a good journey. It was lovely to see you..." etc. etc.
So I tried. I really did. But fate seems to have decided that this is something my Mum is not to know. She would only worry, after all. No matter how much we assured her that we were okay, she'd probably think we were only telling her this to stop her worrying, and were hiding things from her. Which, of course, we now are. Oh dear. Oh what a tangled web we weave... (My family always sums up this sentiment by merely saying "wangled tebs", since my Mum is forever doing Spoonerisms, and this was one of her more memorable ones.)
Pellinor phoned the insurance people yesterday, who said that the work had to be done at one of their approved garages. They typed in our postcode, and said, "There's one only ten miles from you. That'll do." Er, no, Pellinor pointed out. That was in Portsmouth, and there's a pesky bit of sea in the way. After much negotiation, they agreed that an island garage could do the work, as long as they came out first and gave a quote, and the insurance people accepted it.
Then, an hour later, the insurance people phoned up again. "We've contacted the garage that's supposed to be doing the work, and they tell us there's a pesky bit of water between you and them. It won't work out! Oh woe, woe, woe is us!" Yes, Pellinor patiently explained. We've gone through all this before, which is why it's been arranged that an island garage is doing the work. "Ah," they said. "That's why the paperwork says that you're using a local garage and it's all been sorted out beforehand and we're not to contact the one on our books. It turns out that reading the "important: please read me" section on a form is actually useful after all."
Then some chap from the island garage turned up to look at the car, but did so at 6 p.m. "It's dark," he said, in dismay. "I can't see the car properly. I'll have to come back tomorrow in the daylight."
I think this is going to turn into a rather long and irritating saga.
I debated on whether to tell my Mum about the adventure. I phoned last night to say we'd got home. "Did you have a good journey?" she asked. "Well, actually, no..." I said, in the sort of voice that implies that there's a story here. "Good," she said, and proceeded to chatter on about this and that.
Later, she said, "Did Pellinor have a good day at work? Is he home yet?" "Well, he is home," I said, "but..." "Good!" she said. "That's nice! You can have a nice evening in." At the end of the phone call: "Well, I'm glad you had a good journey. It was lovely to see you..." etc. etc.
So I tried. I really did. But fate seems to have decided that this is something my Mum is not to know. She would only worry, after all. No matter how much we assured her that we were okay, she'd probably think we were only telling her this to stop her worrying, and were hiding things from her. Which, of course, we now are. Oh dear. Oh what a tangled web we weave... (My family always sums up this sentiment by merely saying "wangled tebs", since my Mum is forever doing Spoonerisms, and this was one of her more memorable ones.)