It’s always there, that sense of worry, not that sense of occasion, just that nagging doubt about breakdown. Listening for every odd noise adding mechanical catastrophe to each rattle and knock.
A bird tweeting in the hedge is translated into a rhythmic squeak that makes it a wheel bearing about to fail. That odd smell is not the neighbours bar-b-q but the immanent overheating of the delicate engine that you’ve had to coax out of sleep. The fine point between warm, running and hot can be upset by a junction, a set of slow cars or the odd roundabout.
And just as it’s running fine - all gauges at normal - as normal as you could possibly hope for, well now you look at it, the amps seem to be overcharging and the oil pressure is a bit down. Anyway basically it’s all OK. Then the M25. Madness. 125 miles of toe to heal, ass to bumper, tail to bonnet traffic. Stop Stop Start.
Anyway today some routine maintenance. Why is water on the floor ? It's the overflow pipe venting into the bonnet and running back. Fix it. Can you improve the windscreen wipers - can you even get them off the car. Eventually.
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