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Apr. 28th, 2006 12:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolI had a nice night last night. In between Katie howling "MORE DRINKING, LESS THINKING!" and the copious amounts of Blue Stuff (my tongue is stil stained blue) and seeing a very very drunk Ross signing Gimme Gimme Gimme with great gusto, I vaguely approve of drunken kareoke.
No, I didn't sing. I was debating it, but then I had a moment of sanity. Also they did not have the song I wanted.
Anyway. I spent too much money but genuinely had a nice night, and even woke up feeling vaguely cheerful and non-hungover. First thing I did, in an effort to show Derya What You Will Need To Be A Proper Driver (we are now a two car household, what an odd feeling) was to try and find my MOT certificate.
Is it anywhere? Is it bollocks. Now, normally I wouldn't stress, but you need your MOT certificate to tax your car, and that is due Very Very Soon and they fine you Liek Whoa for not paying.
So, I calmly tried to sort out my problems Like A Real Adult. First step was to panic and run around in small circles, ripping my room apart to try and find it. No success. I then proceeded to the stage of deep breathes and phoning my Dad. No good, as he is at work. OH THE FIEND.
Next step was phoning up the nice shiny information number the government gives you for stuff like this. They're good like that, you see, and because I do keep stuff obsessively, I have lots of the little leaflets they periodically send you about it.
My car, according to them, does not exist. "Phone the garage, love!" the Geordie lady told me, after thirty seconds of soothing Bach as I was on hold.
Okay. Took big, deep breathes and googled for 'garages in l39'. Discovered 'Ringtail' which apparently El Parento have been going to for donkeys years. Phoned them.
After an hour of being phoned back and forth, they told me they honestly couldn't find me or even remember a big hairy bearded bloke calle Simon [my last name.] (Yes, my Dad did do my MOT. Shut up. I am afeared of garages.)
Decided the adult thing to do was to burst into tears.
Mum phones. "We can't find it anywhere here."
"I DO NOT HAVE IT!"
Mum puts phone down on me. I wonder why, exactly, the sun bothers shining at all, really, and then I texted Mum to apologise, for this is a time I need to have El Parento on side.
Mum phones back. "What garage to you go to now?" I enquire hopelessly.
"Pit stop on County Road, why?"
I flail and phone Pit Stop. Am put on to very very Scouse man who I nearly cry down the phone at and he tells me that he'll "phone back in a while but it'll take ages."
"Please be quick," I beg. "Car tax is due, um, tomorrow."
Am debating phoning my dad and making him go in and terrorise them.
The best part is, I haven't even gotten dressed yet. Oh, what a wonderful day thus far.
I CALL FUCKING DO-OVER ON THIS WEEK. I want it to start again, and this time I want it to go right. And this post has a distinct sound of gallows humour about it...
[eta: Car tax is, um, not sorted but is in a sort of way, in that Dad is going to send it up to me when the garage gets it and then I am going to send him a cheque and my ETERNAL GRATITUDE. Also I now cannot drive until it gets here and I pay it. Oh well. Shopping tonight, then.
Also![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spockette is glorious but we knew that already.]
[eta2: found it. Um. Suspect El Parento are unhappy with self, but I CAN PAY MY TAX BABY. This is a bad thing as actually have no money but there we are.]
~Hathy_Col~
No, I didn't sing. I was debating it, but then I had a moment of sanity. Also they did not have the song I wanted.
Anyway. I spent too much money but genuinely had a nice night, and even woke up feeling vaguely cheerful and non-hungover. First thing I did, in an effort to show Derya What You Will Need To Be A Proper Driver (we are now a two car household, what an odd feeling) was to try and find my MOT certificate.
Is it anywhere? Is it bollocks. Now, normally I wouldn't stress, but you need your MOT certificate to tax your car, and that is due Very Very Soon and they fine you Liek Whoa for not paying.
So, I calmly tried to sort out my problems Like A Real Adult. First step was to panic and run around in small circles, ripping my room apart to try and find it. No success. I then proceeded to the stage of deep breathes and phoning my Dad. No good, as he is at work. OH THE FIEND.
Next step was phoning up the nice shiny information number the government gives you for stuff like this. They're good like that, you see, and because I do keep stuff obsessively, I have lots of the little leaflets they periodically send you about it.
My car, according to them, does not exist. "Phone the garage, love!" the Geordie lady told me, after thirty seconds of soothing Bach as I was on hold.
Okay. Took big, deep breathes and googled for 'garages in l39'. Discovered 'Ringtail' which apparently El Parento have been going to for donkeys years. Phoned them.
After an hour of being phoned back and forth, they told me they honestly couldn't find me or even remember a big hairy bearded bloke calle Simon [my last name.] (Yes, my Dad did do my MOT. Shut up. I am afeared of garages.)
Decided the adult thing to do was to burst into tears.
Mum phones. "We can't find it anywhere here."
"I DO NOT HAVE IT!"
Mum puts phone down on me. I wonder why, exactly, the sun bothers shining at all, really, and then I texted Mum to apologise, for this is a time I need to have El Parento on side.
Mum phones back. "What garage to you go to now?" I enquire hopelessly.
"Pit stop on County Road, why?"
I flail and phone Pit Stop. Am put on to very very Scouse man who I nearly cry down the phone at and he tells me that he'll "phone back in a while but it'll take ages."
"Please be quick," I beg. "Car tax is due, um, tomorrow."
Am debating phoning my dad and making him go in and terrorise them.
The best part is, I haven't even gotten dressed yet. Oh, what a wonderful day thus far.
I CALL FUCKING DO-OVER ON THIS WEEK. I want it to start again, and this time I want it to go right. And this post has a distinct sound of gallows humour about it...
[eta: Car tax is, um, not sorted but is in a sort of way, in that Dad is going to send it up to me when the garage gets it and then I am going to send him a cheque and my ETERNAL GRATITUDE. Also I now cannot drive until it gets here and I pay it. Oh well. Shopping tonight, then.
Also
spockette is glorious but we knew that already.][eta2: found it. Um. Suspect El Parento are unhappy with self, but I CAN PAY MY TAX BABY. This is a bad thing as actually have no money but there we are.]
~Hathy_Col~
no subject
Date: 2006-04-28 03:01 pm (UTC)*hugs* At least you found it. I suspect it is a very, very good thing I have no car. Although then I would not be late for this lecture, oops...
no subject
Date: 2006-04-28 03:30 pm (UTC)