So here I am, sat in the Touran on Wombwell Lane waiting for Roy's recovery to come & rescue me.
Why am I waiting for Roy? Because mummy brain has struck again.
Days of broken sleep due to Immie's cold, ear infection & now teeth have finally caught up with me. I look and feel about 80 and I have just gone and filled my diesel car up with unleaded! Argh!
This is despite the OH reminding me before I left the house and the massive 'DIESEL' warning messages on my petrol, sorry diesel cap.
I've never broken down before, not like properly in the road with cars whizzing past me and looking.
Bless the two good smaritans who just stopped, checked I was alright then pushed me to the side of the road.
So this is what sleep deprivation does, turns you in to an incompetent idiot.
Roy has turned up. I suspect his name isn't Roy mind. He seems nice enough. So off I go to the depot to get the tank drained. £260 for the pleasure. An expensive set of curly wurlys that!
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