A short little tale of caution, of the trials and tribulations of a small businessman. How for the sole trader, working on his own, unexpected events can wreck your schedule.
Enjoy my little tale but beware!
Beware that one day this could happen in a garage near you.
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"Ello!"
She was French.
Not the car you understand but the driver.
The car was a ... Never mind about the bloody car, and why would you when you took a look at the driver. I run a successful one man band garage in a rural area, so most of my clientele were locals.
She wasn't.
She was French.
She was bloody gorgeous.
"I 'ave ze problems wiv my clignotants," she informed me as I stood there, mouth open, gazing at the most amazingly perfect example of the female species that I'd ever seen. All sort of slim and svelt and leggy and very ... Well very cute and French looking.
"Clignotants?" I repeated dumbly.
"Oui, my clignotants," she confirmed, the smile on her perfect face sending shivers down my spine. "Zey don't ... Er ... Zey marche pas."
"They don't work then," I struggled to translate with my limited French.
"Ah Bon!," she declared triumphantly. "My clignotants work don't."
"And what exactly are your clignotants?" I queried, in no hurry to bring our conversation to an early end.
"I go round ze bends wiv zem," the vision of loveliness grinned at me, her long shiney dark hair swirling about her shoulders as she proceeded to demonstrate what she meant.
"Your steering wheel," I ventured a guess, giving my impression of holding a wheel, much as one might do for a four year old.
"No! Zese things" she giggled, bending over to point out the offending items and nearly giving me a heart attack as her tight jeans tightened even further over her deliciously curved bottom.
"Your indicators," I declared.
"Indicatoes?" She struggled with the word. I guess my London accent didn't help much.
"Your flashers," I gave her the option of an easier word.
"Zat is it," her loveliness laughed in relief. "I want to flash but I can't flash."
"You want to flash?" I repeated, trying not to grin. The though of this pretty young thing doing that, immediately right up there with my widest dreams; playing for the Arsenal only just managing to keep its nose in front.
"Of course I want to flash," she replied seriously. "I know I must flash all the time or ze men behind me vill be tres'angry."
"The men in front of you as well," I added, unable to resist it.
"Excatement!" she declared with a gallic flourish. "I am Freeench girl, but I know I 'ave to do ze flashing . I like ze flashing."
"Good job to miss," I agreed, bending down to undo the plastic cover to check the bulb, hiding the huge grin on my face.
"What you do?" She demanded.
"I'm unscrewing this," was my reply.
"Ah good," she chuckled. "You do screwing and then I can do ze flashing."
"Something like that," I agreed and then could no longer hold my laughter back.
