I ran out of petrol in traffic today. Was trying to get into a petrol station and was so so close. Like an idiot though I was running the air con, otherwise I would have made it. Traffic lights and I felt the engine go. Knew exactly what had happened. I had a mattress and a load of wood in the back. Hit the hazards and jumped out, gestured *slitty neck* to the lady behind me. She took the intended meaning.
Then I ran to the garage, grabbed an approved can, filled it up, paid. I was standing filling him up again less than five minutes after he bottomed out on me. Air con burns fuel fast.
Today’s job was grabbing a load of shitty furniture and throwing it away from a top floor flat in Fulham. Client had been getting great big quotes out of van drivers. John and I did it for £100 each and it felt fair. Three loads to the tip. Mattresses are never easy but they just fit in Bergie. The biggest fucker was the sofa as it was well put together. I left John with it and a wrecking bar for an hour while I took a load to the dump and by the time I got back he was sweating like a dog and the arms were off. We got it down the stairs and into the car.
Largely satisfying to do what we set out to do efficiently and at a price that suited everyone. That’s the game. I’m getting better at it.
Feeling pretty relaxed now back at home. Was about to go to sleep unblogged and suddenly remembered, as I was drifting off, hence the dumpstyle here. No time to be clever. I had sleepydrink. I’ll be running around Dreamland in ten minutes I can feel it coming.
That’s the first time I’ve run out for years and it is because I’ve not wanted to fill up at the price of any of the local garages. No choice today, but at least it was under £1.60. Just. It’s madness. But I will insist on driving my big car with an internal combustion engine. Makes days like today possible though, for me and for John…
AlBarclay 