Things You Encounter When You Haven't Got Your Gun #4

I hate shopping.

But with a conference looming and having lost a few pounds, Yummy Mummy talked me into going to the Trafford Centre. Fed up of using safety pins to keep my trousers up, I agreed to an evening trip - nothing on earth would induce me to a daytime or weekend visit*.

We are making our way along a two lane ringroad, when the rear door of a taxi, parked outside a pub, swings open into the busy road, at the exact moment we pass by. There is a cry from YM and a loud bang. We manage to pull over, some way past and survey the damage. Megane's wing mirror glass, now cracked, hangs sorrily down from its housing, attached only by some wires. Minimal. We clip the glass back into the mirror and reset the housing back into position.

We walk back to the taxi where the driver is shaking his head and looking at his rear offside door which is severely dented! Surveying this, I am now somewhat embarrassed to admit that my only damage is a cracked mirror glass - not even full-blown wing mirror devastation to report, which would seem only reasonable and fair, in light of the state of his door. (Although, at the same time, I am secretly in awe of the tank-like resilience of Megane and resolve to treat it to a wash and polish.)

We swap numbers and he is perfectly decent about paying for the damage.**

The woman who caused the accident is nowhere to be seen. She's paid her £2.80 fare and gone into the pub!


*well, maybe if Mr Palin was signing copies of his diaries in the bookshop, with a free pint of Guinness for every customer.

** which he does immediately, when I replace the glass two days later. Thank you Mr Azad.