We had a strange sort of shopping trip yesterday, strange because my ex husband had arranged to collect us and take us in the car, and even stranger when we got there and bumped head on into the ‘locked wheelchair’ conundrum, or ‘Where is the key?’ Only thing that I bitterly regretted about the whole saga as it unfurled was that I had unfortunately forgotten to take my camera with me. If I had it on my possession, you would all have been treat to some very funny photos of my ex Mum in Law (although here I have to add I still call her Mum as does half the town) sitting looking very concerned in a disabled child’s trolley!
As K and I stood waiting for our taxi yesterday in Tesco’s car park, we were nearly given a close body shave by a driver who pulled up sharply in the taxi pick up area, where he got out of his rather posh large car and leaving his car door open, quickly dashed over to the cash machines. He was fairly young and sported some designer sunglasses. On returning to his car a few minutes later, he glanced back at both of us as if we were something the cat had dragged in, climbed back in and drove off with the usual flourish that some drivers do who think they are a cut above the rest. All that was missing was the screech of tyres and both of us left standing there covered in a cloud of dust. As he sped away I noticed the last letters of his number plate.
B F A. Can you guess what I said they stood for to cause K to howl with laughter?