Friday, Jun. 17, 2005 - 1:44 p.m.

It turns out that standing forlornly* by one�s smashed car is the female equivalent of a male carrying a baby or walking a cute friendly dog. I wish I�d thought of this before. Every second bloke stopped to see if he could reattach my rather rakishly askew bumper (despite obvious evidence to its unfixableness strewn across the road), many pats on shoulder and even one �Oh, I�m a bad driver too� � I set him straight.

Technically it was my fault, technically I misjudged the width of my vehicle getting around a stopped truck on a narrow street, but that doesn�t make me a bad driver. It�s the reckless disregard for the speed limit on the motorway that makes me a bad driver, but this was a low-speed accident, so doesn�t count, right?

Acute nosiness cuts right through English reserve, and everyone had to stop and have a chat to find out what had happened. Crouchende mummies assumed I was parked on the footpath specifically to piss them off, their enormous Range Rover prams not squeezing through the gap I had left. Many dirty looks and one berated me for my thoughtless parking, more fool her speaking to me like that this morning.

Does ruin plans to pikey-it-up by the seaside this weekend though. Poo.

*Okay, maybe not quite standing fornlornly as pacing grumpily.


EDIT: I totally do not look hott in a nissan micra courtesy car.

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