Immobilised - Rooted to the Spot

My husband was only a five minute drive away from home when something went ‘bang’, alerts flashed on the dashboard and the car slowly rolled to a halt.

I listened to the symptoms as described by my husband when he phoned, not that I could be of any help. Green Flag, aware of the disabled driver status, would be as quick as they could. This was great news to the person who was concerned about getting their usual parking space back. The car was completely immobilised and the electronic wizardry that governed the engine was beyond my junior level of basic car maintenance and my husband’s greater skills. I could imagine the ghost of my father voicing disappointment at modern cars. ‘A bonnet full of sealed units, impossible to try to mend anything, whatever happened to engineering?’

Green Flag arrived with a clever computer that suggested an automatic gear-box failure, or something else, or something else again. The computer reset the ‘alerts’, but something still flagged up. It couldn’t be by-passed or over-ridden, so the car remained immobilised and was towed off to the garage.

It turned out to be nothing major, after assessments at more than one establishment. A belt had snapped and hit one of the electronic sensors which gave a false reading of gear-box failure to the dashboard. Repairs and or replacements were carried out. It took days. My father’s ghost was probably tutting and shaking his head. It was something he could have fixed without all this electronic ‘improvements’ getting in the way of mechanics.

This unfortunate episode marked the beginning of the end of our Citroen Berlingo, after only a couple of years. It had been the perfect vehicle to travel to the Outer Hebrides twice, with our dog and all our self-catering stuff.  I found it awkward to drive and considered it to be a beast of a vehicle with a mind of its own. I was happy to see it go and be replaced with a lovely car that I feel confident with.

 

 

The other night, as I returned to the bedroom after an early hours bathroom visit, I was aware of a flash of light through the blinds. I waited for a clap of thunder, which didn’t happen, but I slowly realised that the flash had been torchlight. Someone was out on the street, probably up to no good. I was frozen to the spot, too scared to check. Monsters exist in the small hours and tiny worries become massive. I managed to climb back into bed and close my eyes to all the shadows I hadn’t noticed before. I must have fallen asleep while listening hard and training my hearing to nocturnal activities outside. Nothing came of it, except my fear.

This poem by Mark Toney sums it up perfectly,

 

Night Sweats

Startled at night, I awake,

Frozen, motionless, immobilised,
Eyes straining into the black void,
Phantoms darting about me,
Springing from every direction,
Heart racing, rapidly breathing,
Fantasy and fear running amok.


Happy New Year! Thanks for reading, Pam xx