His name was Tom. “Thank you for stopping,” I told him as I got him to ring me on his mobile and wrote down the the reg of his van. He’s stored in my phone as Tom who hit my car.

Sometimes I sit in Bergman and do admin. It’s comfortable in there. I was doing that this afternoon.

The council in my borough have inexplicably blocked off parking on my street until the 9th September, so the nearest place I can stop is by the busy main road. That’s where I was sitting, catching up with emails. Tom was whizzing past me a bit too close in his white van. *Whack* It’s quite a shock when it happens. Quite a solid hit to the side mirror right my head. Both of our mirrors flew down into the road and rolled. My instinct was to jump out of the car and try and see his retreating numberplate. He immediately stopped though. That’s why I thanked him.

“I always stop in these situations,” Tom assures me, which makes me wonder how often this happens to him. I assure him that if he covers the cost of repairs I’m not gonna go through insurance and screw up his policy. He tells me he will. First blood on Bergman. Bloody London drivers. It was only a matter of time.

The mirror is cracked. The electrics seem to still function though, and it hasn’t taken much scuffing. It is clearly well designed for such situations. Putting it back on and rewiring it is the work of a few seconds. Tom stands by as I check. He’s full of adrenaline now and talking rapidly about all the times he’s been hit in the past. “I’ll get it fixed out of London,” I tell him as he’s clearly worried I’m gonna go to some cowboy in Kensington and pay £250 for a £10 mirror. But I’m gonna get it done properly and I’m gonna make sure there isn’t damage we couldn’t see to the fitting etc. This car has got to last me a bit longer than the usual rubbish gumtree vehicles I work my way through. So I’ll take it seriously.

I had just driven back from seeing an old friend. It is getting more possible now to see people we love. I’m going to have to get back in the habit. She’s selling the family home and wanted my opinion on the antiques there, just in case anything had worth. I’m not an expert but I guess the last few years have taught me a great deal about the market and about how everything is really only worth what somebody is willing to pay, so you have to let go of expectations to some extent.

Now I’m about to get in the bath. I took my bruised car into the West End just now to grab an accordion from The Criterion. The mirror isn’t so broken as to make it hard to see. I’ll take the instrument to Lewisham and back tomorrow, to my favourite little accordion shop…

Little jobs. Things to do. Ticking over… Night night.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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