When Karlos (my car) developed what I thought was a slow puncture, we trundled along to my local garage and stupidly expected that even though it was the day after a bank holiday and they were busy, that the problem could be resolved. How wrong I was! Clearly they saw an English car and an English woman and couldn’t be bothered. My usual ‘smile nicely and charm them with my accent’ ploy didn’t work and nor did the choice phrases I’d learn from listening to Jean-Michel while he was watching football(!) so in the end I had to admit defeat.
Of course what I should have done is asked my neighbours who all pointed me to the local BP garage who were very nice, solved the problem, replaced a leaking tyre valve and charged me the princely sum of 4.50€ for the privilege. The moral of the story – never go to a garage that’s chocabloc full of expensive 4x4’s for a trifling problem – you’ll get better service at the family run place full of old cronks!