I shouted "he's stealing my car" as loudly as I could, dropped my two bags of groceries and took off in pursuit, hoping he would get stuck at the traffic lights. Very gallantly, another man, somewhat younger and fitter than me who was filling his car with petrol, also ran after him to try and help.
However, rather than speeding off as I anticipated, the driver indicated, pulled over to the side of the road and waited for the two of us to catch-up. It was only then I realised that whilst it was exactly the same make, model and colour as my car - his number plate was different. My car was exactly where I had left it - in the parking space in front of the ATM. What's more the "thief" was a kindly 70 year old man wearing a tweed jacket and a pork pie hat!
By the time I caught up with him I was red-faced and huffing & puffing like the Fat Controller running after a train. Through wheezes and coughs, I apologised profusely (to the old man and the chap who tried to help). By this time, the commotion had ensured everyone at the petrol station and all those inside the shop had come out to watch. With my head bowed and trying to control both my breathing and my embarrassment, I calmly walked back and then had to start scrabbling around for my groceries, which had rolled all over the forecourt and underneath peoples' cars.
And on that note, ladies and gentlemen, goodnight!
Aww, bless! That gave Mary and me a chuckle (she says you're working too hard). Meanwhile our car, today, informed us: "Gearbox faulty!", "ESP faulty!", "ABS faulty!", "This faulty!", "That faulty!", "Basil Fawlty!" so I reckon the computer's up the spout. Hey ho.
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