Police, camera, satisfaction

Dinner with Katie last Saturday didn't go quite to plan. I'd arranged to go through to Glasgow and stay over at hers. When I called on Saturday morning, Katie was suffering the after effects of a photographers' bash the night before. I offered to bring through some quality food and cook it. Katie sounded both pleased and relieved when she said "Thanks, Lisa."

I headed off to Real Foods to stock up on the various seeds and oils not abundant in my diet. The herbalist had recommended I swap regular tea for nettle tea. I told her there was no chance of me doing that. She laughed and agreed nettle tea was definitely an acquired taste. I left the store weighed down with bags of pumpkin seeds, linseeds, flax seed oil, and porridge oats, and went to meet my mum in John Lewis.

The plan had been to get some food from M&S and get over to Glasgow in time to watch Strictly Come Dancing. It was now an hour before the programme was to start and I still hadn't been to M&S. I told my mum I'd take the car rather than the train because I was going to be late. I stopped back at the flat to pick up a bottle of Vive Cliquot I'd bagged with 40% off at Thresher, and the car.

As I was driving out past the airport on my way to join the M8, I stopped at some traffic lights. It looked as if there was steam coming out of the bonnet. I rationalised that this was probably just due to the heat of the engine in relation to the cold air outside - like being able to see your breath on cold mornings. I drove on.

About a minute later, the car started to make a weird noise when I pushed down on the accelerator. I knew this wasn't good. I then clocked the temperature guage and noticed it was at boiling point (the temperature guage has never worked and normally sits firmly at freezing point so I never have cause to pay it any attention). Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I'd just started on the M8 so I swung my car over towards the sliproad at Hermiston Gate. I was losing power, steam was definitely rising from the bonnet and the car was crying out. Then it just died, and I drifted to the edge of the road - about half way up the slip road.

The amount of steam now had me convinced that the car was going to blow up at any second, so I got out. And I had absolutely no idea what to do next. All I knew was that I wasn't a member of the AA or the RAC.

I'd like to point out that I'm in no way a pathetic or stupid girl, and I can change a tyre in 25 minutes. But I honestly didn't know what to do. So I called my mum. She didn't answer. I phoned my Granddad. He didn't answer. I phoned my uncle Sean - no answer. I called my brother. Thankfully he did answer. He told me he was in the pub and couldn't come to get me. I explained that I wasn't expecting anyone to come across to get me, I just wasn't clued up on breakdown etiquette. He asked me a few questions and I mentioned that there hadn't been any hot air coming from the blower. "You've got no water, you muppet." Liam said he'd keep trying to call mum for me.

Then my uncle Sean phoned back. I told him my story and he said: "You've blown your enginge. You'll need to get the car towed." I was absolutely freezing so I got back in the car. I called Katie and explained the situation and told her I still planned to get there.

Just at that, the police pulled up behind me. "Have you called anyone?", the policeman asked. "I phoned my mum." "Is she a mechanic like?", he laughed. "No, but she knows ... stuff," I said, a bit sheepishly.

They explained that they had to get my car over to the hard shoulder and pushed it across the road. They asked if I wanted to wait in their car and won me over with the mention of a working heater.

Because I was a 'code 25', officers Davie & Mark waited with me until the tow truck arrived. They were really helpful and talked me through what I should do if I find myself in a similar situation in future. They were so nice and friendly that I had to forgive them for playing back the video footage of me leaving my car so they could laugh at my red wellies.

The tow truck arrived and the police drove me back to Haymarket station just in time for the 9:04pm train to Queen Street.

Katie picked me up at the other end and we sat down to dinner at 10pm. I popped the cork on the champagne, saying that life was too short not to have champagne on a Saturday night. We toasted to: "making it against the odds", "crazy flatmates and not having to live with them" and "great friendships second time around."

It was worth the hassle.