There are days.

There are bad days.

There are fucking awful days.

There are fucking awful and expensive days.

Guess which type today was?

We decided to go for a nice family day out. Lovely. Splendid. Great, smashing, super. An afternoon filled with promises of model villages, ride on trains, cream cakes and lashings of ginger beer. What a perfect way to spend a warm September afternoon.

Must make sure I remember to put fuel in the car.

We set off, leaving the dog in the garden and discussing what we’d like to do first. (Don’t forget the fuel). Which way to go? Let’s not go cross country today because, well, it doesn’t matter why not, but let’s not go that way. Do we have to pass through this town or can we cut around? If we had gone via a different route altogether, we could have cut around but we hadn’t considered that so through the town we go. (Where can we get fuel on the way?)

If we pass through that town, perhaps we should stop and ask my brother and his wife if they want to come with us. Oh, that’s right, they’re not here this weekend. Never mind. If we enjoy it, we can go another time. Oh look - it says here that the place will shut for winter at the end of October. It’s a good thing we’re going today.

First we’d better stop at this garage and fill up. Bet you thought I’d forgotten didn’t ya? Bet you thought I was going to run out of fuel, didn’t ya? Not me. I remembered that the car was running low. I kept an eye on the gauge to make sure I didn’t get stranded in the back of beyond. I got out of the car, dithered for a bit about whether to put Super Unleaded or Premium Unleaded in (why does each garage brand have it’s own variations on two types of unleaded and what the hell is the other one for?) Selected the right one, filled up the tank, paid and left.

A mile down the road I got hit hard, right between the eyes, by the sudden realisation that I drive a diesel car - a diesel car which now contained 50 litres of unleaded petrol.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck, a side order of fuck and an extra fucking fuck for the weekend.

Order a taxi for the (2 month pregnant) wife (who hasn’t left the house for weeks because she has such bad morning sickness and this would have been her first day out for quite a while - oh yeah, you never picked up on the hints did you? Weren’t you wondering what priorities I had that would stop me doing the Rat Race and mean that I was too busy to enter film competitions? What did you think EPAU stood for or didn’t you care? Well, spelt it out for you now eh!) and hatchling, ring the AA, wait 3 hours for a local garage to come and drain the tank, flush the pipes and set me on my way.

Wonderful afternoon I had. Wonderfully fucking expensive (although not even a tenth of the quote in the recent Mail on Sunday where they reported that a mistake of such monumental stupidity - Riesendummheit - would cost four and a half grand to repair).

I think it’s time for a beer.