I tapped the dashboard hopefully. The orange light refused to go away. "Please?" I asked. The car chose to ignore me, and continued displaying its "I'm think I'm broken and I want to visit a VW mechanic" light.
Its at times like these that I truly believe that there is a God. Not one worshipped by any of the major religions, no - one that only exists to make things go wrong just when you really need them not to.
I mean, I'm moving house tomorrow. In 24 hours time, I'll be staring at the compulsory 3 inches of hairy arse crack that all manual labourers are required by law to show while performing any task (in this case, transferring 15 cardboard boxes, 1 sofa, 1 deceptively heavy table and 1 washing machine across town.) And I really need my car to be working. And THE DAY BEFORE I MOVE it has decided to misbehave.
Henceforth I shall be forming The Church Of Bloody Mindedness in the hope that whatever deity is directing things to happen at the worst possible time permits its worshippers to go through life free of washing machines detonating the morning before the landlady comes to inspect the house and other such misdemeanours.
