Going, going, gone

Have you ever seen a full-sized van vanish in a puff of smoke before your very eyes?  I can assure you, it's a terrifying experience.  Especially if the man you love happens to be sitting in it at the time.

That's what happened last night as we were driving home to Bristol, having picked up Joe The Volk, The Purple Passion Wagon from its previous owners.  They were a very pleasant middle-aged couple selling the VW Transporter on behalf of their daughter, who'd just moved to Australia.  The gave us a cup of tea and everything.  

It was too bad it was dark when we arrived to collect it.  Although whether Theo's and my combined mechanical expertise would have picked up the lack of fan belt when we looked at the engine is a moot point.  

But less than ten miles later, on one of the most dangerous trunk roads in the south west, disaster struck.  I was in the car behind Theo, who was trying to get to grips with driving the unfamiliar van, which also happened to be left hand drive.  Then, in quick succession, the lights dimmed, something went bang and the van was enveloped in a thick black cloud of smoke, so dark I couldn't see it at all.  Theo had worked out pretty fast that all was not well, but was valiantly making for the Podimore service station, which had just come into view up ahead.  But I was getting grim visions of fireballs and charred bodies, so I leant on the car horn, whacked on my hazards and pulled him over, full of desperate relief when he got out looking completely unharmed, albeit with a slightly traumatised expression on his face.

"I knew our luck had to run out sometime," I muttered, as I shakily tried to dial the number for the AA on my phone.  We have always considered ourselves an incredibly lucky couple.  Getting together in the first place.  Having so many things in common.  The way my previous 11-year relationship had reached a dignified end with my lovely ex able to find someone worthy of him so soon afterwards. The way so many of my friends and family had accepted Theo, despite him having arrived on the scene while they were still grieving for the lost couple of which I had once been a part.  Scoring an expenses-paid trip to Barcelona together.  Finding our first shared home through a friend of a friend and it turned out to be a humdinger of a place, convenient for both workplaces, yet affordable.  How, when we'd been burgled in our flat, the thief had taken nothing except a handful of loose change and hadn't even made a mess. I could go on, but it would become nauseating.

But the thing is, we quickly realised our luck hadn't run out.  We'd broken down right near the services, for heaven's sake.  So we kept warm while we waited for the AA.  It also meant there was somewhere conveniently close by and off the road for it to be towed and left, very useful as it still had its SORN notice (taxing was something we were intending to do as soon as we'd got it back to Bristol).  The people who'd sold us the van drove out to us and refunded the money we'd given them, less than an hour earlier.  They even offered us a bed for the night, if we needed it, bless them.  The first scrap dealer we rang the next morning was busily loading the stricken VW on a truck within half an hour of us calling them, so we were back in Bristol by lunchtime.  

But luckiest of all, we were both okay.  As we recovered the colour in our cheeks over a couple of Little Chef specials, we toasted our escape from a much worse fate with a bottle of beer.  And we agreed, what had begun as a potential tragedy had turned into an adventure.  Now we just need to find another van, preferably one that will go more than ten miles before expiring.  It's a shame, though.  We really liked the colour of that one.