A few years ago one of our cars died. In the UK it is perfectly legal for one car to tow another on a rope so after much "lively debate" about who was to be in which vehicle, my husband and I set off for the local wreckers yard. He was tow-er, I was towee.
The car we were scrapping was a dreadful thing. Bought in a desperate panic for very little money it was a testament to why you should NEVER buy a car for either of those reasons. It was an old VW Golf, hideous green, clunky and basic in the extreme. It had no way of winding down the windows, it shook like crazy, misfired and required revving up at every stop. In short we were very glad to see the back of it. My husband has a habit of hoarding and that was the only thing I can ever remember him gladly getting rid of.
We set off at snail's pace (well he said it was snail's pace - to me it felt like mach 3). When we approached a roundabout and he slowed to a halt I put my foot on the brake. Absolutely nothing happened. I stamped on that brake pedal with all my might and the result? Nothing. My horrible heavy Golf rammed into the back of his little car and shoved him out directly in the line of oncoming traffic. Understandably outraged he got out of his car and approached me yelling things I won't repeat. I managed to calm him down and apologized repeatedly. I had done my best to brake after all! It simply didn't work. He fiddled with stuff a bit and suggested swapping cars but I hate to tow other cars and I refused. He said we would keep going but he would take it easy (a mere mach 2).
That journey, every terrifying inch of it, is etched in my mind forever. It was awful. We drove up the highway - busy at the best of times and I continued to attempt to brake even though I knew it was pointless. Every time we stopped I nudged his rear bumper fiercely.
At some point I looked down - desperate to find some cause for the brake not working. Apparently I was stamping on the accelerator rather than the brake. I discovered this just as we approached the long, winding hill which led to the scrap yard. It wasn't particularly steep - but it was looooooong.
Appalled at my own stupidity (and for some reason surprised by it) I decided that - since he'd been SO cross and I'd INSISTED it was the brake that didn't work, I would cover my tracks and continue the deception. So all the way down that loooooong hill, every now and again, I would nudge him gently from behind to show that the brakes still didn't work and it still wasn't my fault.
Unfortunately I started to laugh. Once I'd started I couldn't stop. I don't remember ever laughing that much before or since. Eventually I simply couldn't see through the tears and I had to beep and tell him to stop. This time - yet again - I bumped into his vehicle but now it was because I didn't have the strength in my body to press the pedal - AND I was planning to continue with the lie. After a while I had calmed myself sufficiently to explain what was so funny. Chris' jaw became set, his face darkened and he returned to his car after saying one word - "Hilarious".
I would like to have been a passer-by. Seeing one guy driving with stony faced fury followed (too closely) by a woman shrieking and crying with uncontrollable laughter. The journey home was interesting. There was probably an uncomfortable silence of which I was blissfully unaware as I continued to shake with silent laughter.
I wish there was a moral or a nice little tie-up "Jesus loves you" type comment to end this with but no, I can't think of anything. Ah well.
Enjoy your weekend and don't get blown away! I'm going home to find out what battens are in preparation for the stormy weekend.