...and I'll take the low.

The Scottish Holiday.

We now have a bust Astra with most of our stuff in it in a garage in Kendal and we're with two suitcases plus a SatNav in a B&B in Windermere.

Chapter Four:

It's Monday morning and I'm waiting for a call from the garage. I had, as instructed by the RAC bloke, left my contact details in the Astra.

"Didn't they say they would call us by 08:30 with an estimated-time-to-fix?" asked my wife.

"Yup, that's what we were told. I'll give the garage a ring to see what's happening. Got the number?"

There was a slight pause.

"Um, no. Didn't you get it?"

"Um, no. What was the name of the garage? I was mildly drunk when we dropped the car off in the middle of that industrial estate."

Sound of penny dropping.

"Wait a minute. So we're here in Windermere and the car's "somewhere else" and we have absolutely no idea where it other than "we think it's in some blokes garage in Kendal"?"

"Oh bugger."

There was a pause as I got 'that' glare again, followed by 'that wasn't helpful'.

"I think it was on the Ullswater Road."

"OK, I'll Google for it. Ah. Google-Fail - we don't have a computer... Hang on, the SatNav has POI's in it, I wonder if it's in there?"

After much fiddling and scrolling, and by real chance, I found the entry.

"Oooh, it's the 'Ullswater Road Garage', not in it, it's even got the phone number as part of the POI details!"

*ring*

"Hello, it's PTV here. How's my Astra coming along?"

"I'm glad you rang. We have absolutely no idea what your car is doing here..."

My voice hit the same octave as my wife's did yesterday.

"WTF?, sorry, I mean didn't the RAC bloke talk to your garage manager yesterday? And didn't he promise that he would have it fixed by lunchtime? And, what am I going to..."

"Oh, look, an Eagle..."

"(sorry)"

"We'll get back to you."

*click*

Chapter Five:

*ring*

"Our garage manager has taken a look and it's the clutch slave cylinder, which is a gearbox-out job. We can't get the parts 'till this afternoon and it'll take six hours labour. It'll be about £700."

"(f***) OK, Plan B it is then. I'll rent a car from Enterprise and we'll be on our way."

"We rent cars too."

"Beat their quote and you've got the job!"

My wife looked at me in the only way that women can - "How do we get from Windermere to Kendal with all our stuff?", "Um, taxi?"

In the end, the B&B let us leave the suitcases with them and we walked to the station and got on the train. There is a side-tale here about the blind guy, the taxi and the ticket queue, but that's another story. We looked for taxis at Kendal Station. There are none - I counted them, twice. We walked a mile in 27 degrees to the garage using the SatNav - we got some odd glances when an ethereal voice piped up "Turn, Left".

Chapter Six:

We got to the garage and went through the "rent a car" procedure.

"It's a Mitsubishi Colt. It's got four doors!" he said proudly.

"Does it have an engine?"

"Have you got the two proofs-of-address?"

"Yes, but I don't have my passport with me."

"Why would I need that?"

"Great. Has it got air-con?"

"Yes, it must have, it's an 08 plate."

He gave me the keys and rushed off - a little too soon for my liking. Maybe that's how they work up here. We transferred all the cr*p that we had in the Astra - it filled up the boot and the back seats. We set off. It was about 35 degrees in the cabin and the car was running on like sh*t, almost like it was running on three cylinders.

"Turn the air-con on then"

"Where the switch?"

"Can't find it."

"Hmph. Wind down the windows then."

"He bloody well knows it doesn't have air-con doesn't he?"

We hit the M6 at Penrith after about 25 miles. We wound up the windows; I pointed the car north and thrashed the nuts off it all the way to Glasgow in a temper. Must say, it ran a whole lot better after that.