Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

Coming over all McCall Smith

An incident last week involving the Noble Beast - our car - has proved what I've long suspected: my life is turning into something out of one of Alexander McCall Smith's books about Edinburgh. It was past midnight, my husband Va-vay was snoring lightly by my side, Beanie was asleep next door in her room - the 'Beanerarium’. I couldn’t sleep for worrying if I remembered to tether the Noble Beast properly.

In my defence, just after I stabled the Beast earlier that evening I got a bit flustered because as I was putting Beanie into her buggy - the 'Travelling Beanerarium’ - a large silver Mercedes drew up very, very close to us.

“Could you be careful! There’s a little girl here,” I shouted, pushing the buggy away as fast as I could. Unfortunately progress was slow on the uneven cobbles of the Edinburgh New Town.

The man wound down his window and drawled in a hateful, posh accent, as if he couldn’t be bothered if he mowed over an entire kindergarten: “I am fully aware of that.”

Still a bit upset about that, and busy thinking up pithy rejoinders it was too late to deliver, I couldn't sleep. So instead I lay there for another half hour, keeping myself entertained by running through the possibilities of what might happen to the poor Beast:

a) Drunken pub-goers break into car, urinate everywhere, trash her.

b) Car thieves steal the Beast and take her to Glasgow, where Lard McConnell, well-known Glaswegian crime lord and good friend of Bertie Pollock is waiting to take delivery of her

c) Insurers refuse to pay up because it was my mistake. S**t!!!!

"Va-vay," I say, quite loudly, in the darkness. "Va-vay, I think I forgot to lock the car."

The poor man gets dressed, stumbles out of the house looking half-asleep and heads back to the scene of the crime.

He returns twenty minutes later, gets undressed again, and climbs back into bed. All without saying a word.

"So, err... was it okay?" I say apologetically.

"Yes, all locked up." Within seconds he's snoring gently again.

Oh dear. A classic Irene Pollock moment.

Posted 03 November 2007 16:47

Angst Car Edinburgh Out and about

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