A weekend ’cause it was my birthday

34 years ago, my mother screamed and screamed, and carried on like murder, and then I popped out screaming and screaming and carrying on like murder.

It is for this reason that I refuse to work on my birthday. That, and I had an interview for the Co-op for a full-time position many years back, on my birthday. I took in chocolate cake and still didn’t get it. Hindsight lets me know that I would’ve regretted the job but that’s not the point. So, it is for these 2 reasons that I refuse to work on my birthday. Also, and this goes without saying, I refuse to work because it’s my birthday.

So on Friday (the BIG day) I got up, had a haircut, spoke to Kayte for a good hour, had lunch with Jackie, and spent the afternoon/evening at the pub with Shaun. I saw my little man Myles, too, and he gave me the best present ever — a little cement mixer car! I’ve been instructed to bring it with me every time I visit.

On Saturday, I had a haircut, went to work for a few hours, and eventually ended up on the sofa. I’ve been getting into Madam Secretary. I quite like it. I recognise the lead lady person but I haven’t yet got round to Googling her.

On Sunday, I did jack shit.

This morning, I had to be up super early because Bertie had an appointment at the garage. I had to be out the door to drop the car off at Shaun’s, to then catch a train to Fareham, and walk, and get to work by 730. I managed it but it was a palaver.

Bertie has spent his day getting poked and prodded, and now has to stay in overnight.

The oil warning light going on and off was due to the oil pressure sensor, as I’d reasoned. Little brownie points for me! I’ve been a driver a month and can already troubleshoot this out. The sensor has been changed.

The tapping I noticed when Bertie was idle was possibly due to a previous owner allowing the engine to run out of oil, and then filling it up and not doing something. They’ve put in new oil that’s VW approved and the tapping, by their measure, is now less.

My inability to start the car first time is unlikely to be all me, but may also include the actions or inactions of a temperature sensor. They’ve changed the sensor but at the time of me calling the engine was too hot so Bertie’s got to stay in overnight so they can check in the morning.

It’s rather annoying because I’ve got to get up super early again tomorrow. Fucking trains. Fucking walking. But I suppose it’s only once in a while, now.

And there we have it.

I’m 34. I’ve had a haircut and my car’s in the garage. If that ain’t ‘adulting’ I don’t know what is.

Tomos James

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