I don’t suppose things really go in threes. I’m really not superstitious. But I’ll acknowledge that I tend to count things up.

I drove to London today, to meet my new tenant and her daughter (English is not the first language, so she likes to have her daughter present). I set the alarm for 6, which wasn’t really necessary as I woke sometime after 1am and didn’t sleep again. I might have drifted off at about the time I needed to get up.
I was so tired, I couldn’t really eat breakfast. A bite of toast and a slurp of orange juice. I made tea but couldn’t drink it, so swallowed a couple of paracetamol instead. I don’t resort to pills very often, this was born of desperation. I did basic chores and left at 6.30, on schedule. I said I’d arrive between 9 and 9.30, so had a bit of time in hand. And I needed it.
After half an hour, I was finding it hard to stay awake. So I stopped in a lay-by to close my eyes for a while. Five minutes doze seemed to do the trick, so I started off again – but after a mile or so, an alert came up on the dashboard to check my tyre pressures. Tired as I was, I almost panicked. But I reasoned myself through it. And I was only a few more minutes from the Tesco petrol station at Bury. I’d meant to fill up there on the way home but I topped up the tank and enquired about air.
I’ve hardly ever pumped up the tyres at a petrol station. Either the garage does it or I do it at home. I’ve never done so on this car, in almost a year. Silly. I couldn’t find where it told me the recommended pressure. So I asked a man. Yeah, apologies to any self-sufficient woman who would never consider such a retrograde action. I’m old and I was anxious and I couldn’t bloody do it. So I asked a man who was filling a container with petrol, who looked capable and kind. And so he was. Lovely guy, young enough to be my son, old enough to need reading glasses, which I don’t so, when he said the pressure was on the tyre, I could find it. And then, he kindly did the job for me.

I arrived at the flat at 9.28, having taken a couple of wrong turns because London is complicated. And then I met the tenant and her daughter – both lovely people, really nice – and drove home uneventfully. Tim got back a bit before me, so joyous reunion thing.
Three things, though. Gotta be three things.

2 comments on “Threes?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.