‘And Another Thing...’ Ice Dancers and the Car Wash byVince Nolan
I recently pulled up at our local car wash for the weekly removal of grime from the old jalopy. There was a queue. A car was in the process of being cleansed. Behind it, a lady was waiting her turn and I was next in line. The lady appeared to be fiddling with the machine to select her programme of choice. She then commenced to reverse towards me so I advised her in the time honoured tradition not to crash into me (or words to that effect). She got out of her car and told me that the machine did not work even though the evidence of the soapy car in front of her told a different story. I drove off to find another facility but could not help but wonder how the lady knew the wash did not work since she couldn’t have used it as it was already providing suds heaven for another motorist. Back I came and parked behind a new arrival who couldn’t crack the Enigma Code of using a bleeding car wash either. This guy kept waving his barcoded ticket at the machine like some demented Morris Dancer’s handkerchief. He was totally perplexed when nothing appeared to be happening. How he managed to miss the two metre 12 CARDIFF TIMES
long flashing LED signs, which were visible from space, saying “Forward,” I will never know. However, unperturbed, forward he went, straight through the wash and out the other side and away. I then drove into the machine which worked perfectly on his ticket. Marvelling at my eventual good fortune, I noticed that “Morris Man” (the guy who had just driven off) had returned and was now parked behind me, next in the queue. I had a decision to make. The devil on my one shoulder said “Drive off once you have finished because now his ticket can’t work cos you have just used it.” The angel on the other shoulder told me to explain to him what had happened and offer to pay for his wash. The angel won Dear Reader. I went back, explained how stupid he was and paid for the cheapest wash I could find for him. He is probably still there, trapped and with his sunroof open. Whilst I was at said garage I put some fuel in and the bloke at pump 3 put £10 in. Where was he driving to? Pump 4? A couple of times a week I pop into a local supermarket having dropped the Leader of the Opposition off at her secret place of employment. I buy a newspaper and a cup of tea and take a little while catching up with world events prior to commencing my working day. I know, living the dream. As part of this ritual, I have taken to sitting at the same table by the window overlooking the car park. Each time I have been there (no set day and no set time), a bloke, about my age, occupies an adjacent table although many others are vacant and stares at me over his laptop which I suspect is his only friend. The very millisecond that I stand up to leave he pounces and moves into my
