Coming home from the Cliff Top Residence the other day I was following a rather ancient Ford Ka driven by an even more ancient goddess.
Smoke was billowing out from under the Ka – a familiar smell of a clutch about to expire.
She ground to a halt on a very steep hill and on a bend.
For once my brain was in gear. I stopped, put on my hazard lights and, having ascertained that her car was indeed dead, attached a tow rope to it [by a small miracle I had one], towed her to a safe place in a public park and then drove her home where she could compose herself and sort out everything on the telephone with a cup of tea to hand and a loo nearby.
She was embarrassingly grateful but, as I said to her, I would hope that if the same sort of thing ever happened to me someone would come to my rescue; I hope I never have to find out. And if I ever meet her in the village hall once we’ve moved, I'll expect a cup of tea and a crumpet!
