Ex Pat Mamma

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Fatherly Advice

Yesterday, my 12 year old renault clio, a.k.a. la romabíll was showing signs of distress; the red battery light was staying on after she started. She hasn't been anywhere for months, apart from running around the town so I thought perhaps the battery needed charging. As a good daughter does, I phoned my daddy and he said it might be the fan belt that needed changed, which would mean the battery wasn't charging. BUT it was a good idea to take her for a run to see if it would charge. Which I did. Took her a good long run and although the battery light was flickering on and off after a bit, it certainly didn't look too sure of itself so I decided to go straight to the garage. Until I was about 3 minutes from town and the light goes off. Hurrah! I decided just to keep driving and went out of town in the other direction (town takes approximately 87 seconds to drive through). But there was another light, orange with a squiggly line, whatever that means. The battery light would flicker on sometimes and stay on occasionally so I accepted that a mechanic would be required. I slowed down to turn the car at a wee road and as I reduced my speed to a crawl to turn, the OIL light came on and she stopped dead. Dead dead dead. Not going anywhere. Crap. Middle of nowhere. 9am, Iceland, february (OK, I admit, it was a beautiful day but it was cold), not exactly a main international thoroughfare. But kindly lady did stop and let me use her phone to call my office manager who set out on a rescue mission.

Of course, just before she arrived, I realised that neither of us could move the car; she is smaller than me and I am not pushing a car 19 weeks pregnant (or 20 weeks and a bit, depending on whom you believe). So we flagged down two big strong men who came to our rescue, slagged off the car (poor baby) and pushed it to the side of the road.

Keys have been delivered to hubby whose problem it now is to find someone to collect it and tow it to the garage. Damn thing just had its bílaskoða (MOT) and a service, so I hope this isn't going to be a big job. I've got a pram to buy.

Daughterly Advice: don't automatically accept fatherly advice!



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