robert.saunders
MB Enthusiast
Sooooo, today was picnic day apparently. And it was drizzling here and a bit misty and cold, but off I went to the local Co-Op around 10am for the obligatory picnic food which we forgot to buy during the week. It's easily within walking distance but no! I drove down, lazy that I am.
On returning to the car, some kind soul who was parked next to me within their bay (and I was parked squarely in mine before you comment!) decided their offside front could do with meeting my nearside rear door on their way out of the bay - lovely long scratch of blue paint left behind, cheers for that my friend
Never mind, that door already has a deep scratch from a paperboy and his bike from a year or so back, when left on my Dad's driveway, perhaps a hint I really should get it done....
So, off we drive to Burghley House and park up amongst the rest of the cars within the trees, safe from the roaming deer, and we have my obligatory "get fitter" walk around the grounds, and on returning to the car we decide to have our picnic now the sun has come out; do we sit on our chairs somewhere nice? No, we just sit in the front seats, News Of The World at the ready and I start to munch on my non-diet pork pie...
Quite soon, I hear a lady yelling at a boy "Don't throw stones Tarquin!" or whatever his name was; next I know - THUNK! Oh my, a rather large object has been thrown at the rear of the car.
Woman yells at boy, and pulls him away; so, not content that she hasn't at least apologised to the pork pie munching man who is sat inside the car, drivers door wide open, I decide to get out and with a discreet "Oi! Madam!" she waddles back and I examine the fresh dent upon the boot, to the left of the offside rear lamp assembly.
"Oh, sorry about that! I'm sure it'll be ok!" she says, as she places her fat index upon the muddy scratch (nice big stone used, cheers lad) and proceeds to rub it better, but merely circulating all the grit and make it look worse than it already is...
I ask if she would mind leaving her details, calm as you like, but she waddles off muttering she will get her husband...
Anyway, husband (boy's grandfather) arrives and he gives me his details, much redness of face, muttering to himself about the little sh!t (assume he meant grandson) and to let him know how much it will cost to put right, and we part company on pleasantly civil terms.
Most things come on threes apparently, and on returning home, the hoover has blown up.
What a great day. Mind you, the pork pie was pleasant
On returning to the car, some kind soul who was parked next to me within their bay (and I was parked squarely in mine before you comment!) decided their offside front could do with meeting my nearside rear door on their way out of the bay - lovely long scratch of blue paint left behind, cheers for that my friend
Never mind, that door already has a deep scratch from a paperboy and his bike from a year or so back, when left on my Dad's driveway, perhaps a hint I really should get it done....
So, off we drive to Burghley House and park up amongst the rest of the cars within the trees, safe from the roaming deer, and we have my obligatory "get fitter" walk around the grounds, and on returning to the car we decide to have our picnic now the sun has come out; do we sit on our chairs somewhere nice? No, we just sit in the front seats, News Of The World at the ready and I start to munch on my non-diet pork pie...
Quite soon, I hear a lady yelling at a boy "Don't throw stones Tarquin!" or whatever his name was; next I know - THUNK! Oh my, a rather large object has been thrown at the rear of the car.
Woman yells at boy, and pulls him away; so, not content that she hasn't at least apologised to the pork pie munching man who is sat inside the car, drivers door wide open, I decide to get out and with a discreet "Oi! Madam!" she waddles back and I examine the fresh dent upon the boot, to the left of the offside rear lamp assembly.
"Oh, sorry about that! I'm sure it'll be ok!" she says, as she places her fat index upon the muddy scratch (nice big stone used, cheers lad) and proceeds to rub it better, but merely circulating all the grit and make it look worse than it already is...
I ask if she would mind leaving her details, calm as you like, but she waddles off muttering she will get her husband...
Anyway, husband (boy's grandfather) arrives and he gives me his details, much redness of face, muttering to himself about the little sh!t (assume he meant grandson) and to let him know how much it will cost to put right, and we part company on pleasantly civil terms.
Most things come on threes apparently, and on returning home, the hoover has blown up.
What a great day. Mind you, the pork pie was pleasant
