Car

They were driving along a very narrow lane, with high green hedges on each side. The car was an old one, a classic two-seater that cost the driver nearly two hundred thousand pounds. It was red against the green. The passenger was nervous, and the driver was terrified of expensive scratches on the beloved car. The hedgerows inched in closer as the car moved more and more slowly down the lane. The lane that would eventually widen out to reveal the big country house of the passenger’s childhood.

The car stopped. The engine spluttered and a whiff of smoke came from the bonnet.

“Damnation,” the passenger banged the dashboard, “I thought you had this serviced yesterday for, what was it? Two thousand?”

“Yes, thereabouts. Look darling, it’s an old car, these things happen. I tell you what, I’ll look under the bonnet, see what’s what.”

“Yes, you do that. Darling.”

The driver opened the door slowly so as not to scratch it, squeezed out, and shut the door carefully. Then went to the front of the car and pinged open the bonnet. More smoke came out. The passenger meanwhile was on the phone to the big house. The driver stared at the smoking engine.

“Oh dear, it’s not good. They said this might happen at the garage. George said it would be looked at on the next service,” the driver said to the car more than anything - the passenger was not listening.

“Gasket, then,” thought the driver as she closed the bonnet and got in back behind the wheel.

“Gasket,” she said.

“Expensive,” the passenger put the phone back into his pocket, “they will be along soon.”

Twenty minutes later, a tractor arrived, turned 180 degrees and then backed up slowly to the stricken Jaguar.