I was preoccupied.
I had to go to court.
The Recorder (a Kiwi version of a magistrate?) looked over to the dock.
"This is a very serious event Mr R***", he said in a dry, yet distinctly threatening voice.
"Not only were you found driving an automobile whilst being disqualified, but the offence which caused this court to disqualify you the first time was only one month ago"
"What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Speak up R***, I cannot hear you"
This whole business started 2 weeks before.
I had been at home, reclining in the large leather armchair and watching the usual crap on TV when the phone went.
It was m'son, who apparently desired a lift home from Wellington.
"The car's broken down Dad, and it's been towed away, could you come and get me?"
A parent's life is a life full of hardship, frustration and occasionally, despair.
And lots of acting like a taxi driver.
I went to get him.(Luckily, it was the weekend, and Mr Whisky had yet to be visited, so I could drive safely)
On the way home we discussed his car.
It had had some sort of radiator implosion the month before, and I suspected that some long-term damage had been done to the engine of the 14 year old Toyota, so I wasn't terribly surprised that it had broken down, although I was pleasantly surprised on m'son's initiative in getting it towed away to a place of repair.
Normally that sort of advanced organisation is left to Dad, who always comes through with efficiency and care.
The next week, back at school, I was in my tiny office, just completing the numerous and tedious tasks which fill part of my day.
I had arranged to pick up m'son from his place of work in Wellington, with the purpose of going out to Porirua and collecting the car.
Then I had a thought.
|My image of what the Nice Lady looked like|