Storm Clouds & Scooters

Just over two weeks ago, I watched from the window as my sickly little scooter was wheeled into a van to go for some much needed scooter surgery.

Much to Kevin's horror, I even waved to it and got a little emotional as it was driven away. But 24 hours and £120 later it was delivered back to my door, fully MOT-ed and looking as fresh as the day I first wobbled my way home on it.

So, for the last fortnight it's been farewell to the bus and a welcome return to free parking and pretending to be Italian, as I trundle to and from the office in my gilet and loafers.

Well, that would be the case if it would just stop bloody raining!

Alison is a friend I love dearly, but her horribly accurate prediction of 'Sunny at Seven, Raining by Eleven' has left me soaked almost every day and on the verge of doing her bodily harm with my brolly. Two days ago, it also left me with puddles in the soles of my favourite ballet flats and it's difficult to look cool under those circumstances.

But, no matter how dreadful the weather, there is always a little ray of sunshine and mine came bursting through the clouds when I paid a visit to the petrol pumps. As the dial hit the £3.85 mark, the pump stopped with its reassuring clunk that signals not another drop can be squeezed into the tank.

£3.85!! For just a few pennies more than my daily bus fare, I'd been whizzing around on two wheels for almost fourteen days.

I feel so pleased that I might even give the scooter a clean - twice in three years isn't too bad...