Responsible Driving.

I had to go to the dentist as one does periodically, to ensure one's feelings of wealth are adequately controlled.  It was a hot day, well over 35C and humid.  I decided to drive the car to the dentist, rather than riding my bike.

The dentist and I had a convivial meeting, at the end of which she presented me with a plan describing all the ways I could spend money on my ageing teeth.  I drove off along busy Port Road, spitting and spluttering at the cacky taste of fluoride treatment in my mouth, and thanking my lucky stars that I hadn't ridden my bicycle in the sizzling heat.  Look at me, turning into a South Australian and whinging about one 30C+ day.

Christmas is coming, dentist or no dentist. 

There I was, driving along Port Road minding my own business and contemplating dental expenses and all of a sudden alarms pinged, lights flashed, and the car displayed messages to the effect that I had a Problem With Battery or Electrics.

Being a responsible car driver, I pulled over and looked at the messages.  I really didn't want to sit in the car on busy Port Road in the hot sun, waiting for the RAA.  "It's only two km to home," I said to myself.  "I'll  just go slow.  Everything seems to be working.  Probably a false alarm."  Myself agreed. This was not without precedent: the car regularly gets upset because an imaginary person sitting in the rear passenger seat doesn't use their seatbelt.  I knew that the alarms would stop pinging in a minute or two.

Off we went, the car and I, one of us carelessly crossing the border into irresponsibility.*  We exited Port Road into the quieter kingdoms of suburbia.  The lights flashed, the alarms stopped pinging.  I relaxed.

STOP!  Flashed the car, in big red letters.  YOU HAVE NO PARKING BRAKE!!

Jolly good, thought I.  The lack of a parking brake doesn't really bother me given I'm driving and not parking.  Just let me get home.  One km to go.

STOP! Flashed the car, in big red letters.  YOU HAVE NO POWER STEERING!!

OK, that could be more problematic.  I had one corner to go.  We took the corner at glacial speed, the car and I.  There was a clunk and a shudder, a possibility that the car was telling the truth and there was, indeed, an issue with my power steering.

Home lay at the end of the street.  I reconsidered my turn into the driveway, not wanting to demolish the gateposts should the power steering give up its final ghost at a critical moment.

STOP! Said the car, in big red letters.  YOU ARE BEING IRRESPONSIBLE! STOP NOW!!  Well it didn't quite say that, but that was the gist of it.  I stopped in the next patch of shade and walked the final 50m home to break the news to Roger that we had a Car Related Problem.

I'll spare you the angst of the RAA visit, the to-ing and fro-ing with mechanics who couldn't possibly see our car until after Christmas, and the joy of finding one who could.  All the while knowing that, going by previous experience, we would probably need a $5 part which would take 4 months coming from France in a kayak propelled by a tadpole.  The car had a little rest in the street while Roger and I got around by bicycle for a day or two, which wasn't much different from what we usually did except for a few extra trips by bus for when there were hills.  Eventually a very nice man from the RAA came out and took the car away.

Goodbye. Get well soon.

The mechanic, bless his little oily socks, rang a scant three hours after he had received the car.  "I've got you a new alternator," he annouced with breezy confidence.  "Genuine Citreon part too, cost me $500 less than going through the Citreon dealer.  You can pick the car up tomorrow."

Well, that was easy.  And he's an RAA-approved mechanic, so that means he's legit, right?  Right?

We pick the car up tomorrow, no kayaks or tadpoles involved.

Fingers crossed.

*Don't do this.  Call the RAA and sit in the hot sun.  Be responsible.