ENGINE TROUBLE

I’m halfway to work, parked in a shady side street, hoping that when I start the engine in a few minutes, my car will be back to normal.

More car trouble, yes. More trouble in general actually, not to mention sad news all round.

But. It is sunny. The air is warm like May days should be. This was always the kind of day when you looked forward to playing rounders on ‘the field’ or school trips or picnics. The grass is still green, scattered with the bright yellows and whites of buttercups, dandelions and daisies.

It’s the oil light this time. It came flickering on as I rumbled down the hill. Then the engine started to judder. I’ve been here before - this story ends, and if walking to Sainsbury’s, buying engine oil and pouring it into the engine doesn’t work, might still end, with a clicking, a shaking, and then a violent, crunching squeal that’s the death of a combustion engine.

I’m letting it rest for a while before turning the key.

It might well be that I’m supposed to be relying more on the bus. That could be a thing. Certainly, I didn’t have any repulsion  to it. On the other hand, there are some journeys in my life that the bus won’t solve.

Still, I’m calm. I’m not worried or panicky, just prosaic. And I have a worst-case disaster plan should the engine still be in trouble in a few moments. Oh and work? Ha. Least of my worries.