Tuesday, 18 February 2014
To this end I have cultivated a nice working relationship with my local back-street garage. Over the years I have spent a fortune on servicing and spares so it is nice when that investment pays a dividend.
This week, prior to having to put in some serious miles for work, I noticed I needed a new headlamp bulb. Nothing expensive or complicated to do but not something I was willing to risk a nail for!
So off I went to see my favourite collection of grease monkeys; a whole heaving garage of black boiler-suited lads in their twenties, grease under their nails and dirty smudges across their faces. The mere smell is always enough to make me quiver!
So I went into reception and told the ancient crone behind the desk my woes. She disappeared out into the workshop and summoned one of the gloriously filthy mechanics. I tossed him my keys (that was all unfortunately) and sat by the window while he worked his magic. A mere five minutes later (barely time for me to wonder where to find a Diet Coke to chuck his way) he was back. Job done. He refused my offer of payment and waved me on my way. Bless him.
So not only did I get my headlamp repaired but I had had my wank bank topped up and all at no cost. Aint life great?!