Went back to Fords again today to collect my part. Guess what? It was WRONGO!!! They've got another one ordered, but it won't be in until Tuesday. My son suggested that my car was just 'at that awkward age'. Puzzled, I enquired further. Apparently, he can clearly remember being 'a stroppy little git' at around the 13/14 year old mark. Bless him - I can't! His point being that, from his own personal experience, nothing brings a stroppy teenager round like a nice cuppa and some jaffa cakes or maltesers. Well, we enjoyed the natter, the coffee and the choccies, but the bloody car still misfires. But we have hatched a cunning plan for revenge against Ford's incompetance. We're going trawling in a local scrapyard tomorrow, and if we find our requisite power packs and relay box, we shall get them for a pittance, compared to the £95+VAT that Ford will charge us. But will we ring Ford an tell them? Noooooo. They can sit on the shelf, so that when the next long-suffering Galaxy owner turns up, he/she can be absolutely gobsmacked to find that the buggers have ACTUALLY got something IN STOCK!!! Personally, I think we ought to charge them for improving their image. As for my own image after all this Valder-bleedin-ree clumping about the countryside - I could take Femininity lessons from Fatima Whitbread, with top-up tutorials from Henry Cooper.
I would say 'watch this space', but I'm sure you'll find some dribbling soap opera that's less predictable. Happy, happy, bleedin' happy!
