It took a few weeks, but I finally managed to unload the minivan. Not that it wasn’t useful, I had decided that when my kids were all out of diapers my minivan days were D-O-N-E. So my husband, the great guy that he is, hooked me up with a really lovely (as they say here in the UK) barely used, Mercedes wagon.
It isn’t easy driving here in the UK. First you are on the WRONG side of the street and then to top it off, you are on the WRONG side of the car. Parking is a nightmare, so they allow people to park all over the place, going in any direction they feel like parking. If you are going North and see a spot going South, you just cut across the lane line and park. The fact that your car is going a different direction is irrelevant. Do you know how many times you drive down a street and begin to panic that you are on a one-way going the wrong direction? The opening in the street after everyone has jockeyed for position, is about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.
When I came home with just my tire flat, I thought I was doing an ok job. My girlfriends here have all whacked up their cars. One of my friends even parked her SUV on top of a MiniCooper, got out and went inside for cocktails, not realizing that she was on top of another car.
“Wait a minute Wendy” my husband said.
“You said a flat tire.”
“What happened to the bumper?”
“The bumper that came off….huuuuh! Look at the scratch.”
‘Whooooh” I gave a good whistle.
“That’s pretty serious” I replied.
“Well, I did hit a curb…….and, I don’t know what to tell you, the curb must have jumped out and taken off the bumper.”
It wasn’t pretty. In less than one month I had managed to dislodge the bumper, pop the tire, and scratch the company car. Maybe I would look into the train. It might be a better idea.