Failure

My first experience today is failure, so it's not a good start. I'd planned to drive the kids off to a not-local museum to check out their Egyptian collection. We don't go. This is thanks to a sudden conscious-raising moment over my first cup of coffee. The car has no MOT.

In fact the car hasn't had an MOT since September. I've been driving around, as happily as anyone can drive around with fighting triplets in the back, having completely forgotten this small but essential legal requirement. But now I know the car has no MOT, every journey is a disaster waiting to happen.

The first thing to happen will be that I'll have an accident. I'll drive into the world's only 20-cylinder Porsche race car which just happens to be parked outside our local Co-op because it's being driven to a secret Porsche research location and the driver needs some cheese. I know it sound unlikely, but stranger things can happen. My insurance will be invalidated of course because I am driving an unroadworthy vehicle without an MOT. We'll have a repair bill of £25 million which we won't be able to pay. I'll have to go to prison.

By the second cup of coffee I'm wishing I was some sort of lady gangster who dealt with these circumstances on a daily basis. By the third cup of coffee I'm wondering if I could make a career out of being a lady gangster and whether there was anyone I know who could sell me a gun to get me started. Then there'd have to be a red dress, shoes and a new handbag, obviously.

'You could book it in at the garage' says Dig. I'm not sure if this is helpful. Dressed in a red sequin evening dress clutching a Dior handbag, I was just shooting my way out of jail. But fearing for my life in a vehicle without an MOT I ring the garage. The first time I call, the phone's answered quickly, but before I have a chance to say anything a voice at the other end shouts, 'I'll put you through to the right department' and the line goes dead. This is odd. I ring back. No answer. I try again and again. No answer. After two hours someone picks up the phone at the other end. Fearing they'll put it down again I shout 'I want an MOT!' There's silence at the other end, then a bloke with a very calm, slow voice says, 'All right then love, you can tell me about it. What car have you got?'

So now the car's booked in for next Monday. Which is failure number two. Next Monday is the Egyptian workshop at the not-local museum I wanted to go to today. Since today was about preparation and the start of a mini-Egyptian project, it sort of made home-ed sense for next week. And now both days are cancelled. But it has to be. Anyway, I'd look terrible in a red sequin dress, and I can't afford the Dior handbag. Unless of course, being a lady gangster, I can nick it.