Thinking the Worst

I’ve always considered myself to be an optimist but after this incident that happened over Christmas, I’m not so sure…

The boys and I been out for the day visiting family and now we were heading home, driving on the windy dark country roads.

(Co-incidentally the same roads as I drove on when Following Fog Lights, several blogs ago!)

All of a sudden, I hit something and braked sharply because whatever it was sounded like it had caused some major damage to the undercarriage and quite probably a flat tyre.

We all got out of the car to look.

Every tyre was intact and we were very puzzled. We’d all heard the noise and there was nothing on the road left behind us.

On closer inspection under the car I could see what I thought looked the size and shape of a concrete breeze block – I had to describe what one was to the boys because neither had heard the term before. It was wedged in tight and impossible to move.

After calling the breakdown service lots of thoughts bombarded my brain simultaneously,

1.     Why didn’t I see the offending object, after all it was big enough? On reflection I did spot it, too late. The problem with driving on dark roads is that you get dazzled by oncoming traffic so by the time I had registered its existence I was over the top of it! Phew - I’m not really a bad driver.

2.     How did a breeze block get in the middle of a road, should I call the police, was it a matter for them or should I wait until the breakdown truck had arrived? Fortunately, I waited but in my crazy train of thought I had already thought all of this through to the illogical conclusion of standing giving evidence at the trial of some rogue gang depositing concrete blocks on minor roads. My imagination knows no bounds – no wonder my dreams are so vivid.

3.     Who lived in the house we were parked outside of, had they spotted us, why didn’t they invite us in for a cup of tea? Or just check we were OK?

“Have we got anything to eat in the car?” Oldest son broke into my thoughts.

There was an emergency packet of mini cheddars in the glove box which he didn’t want. And chocolate he’s just got as a Christmas present which he also didn’t want – we certainly wouldn’t starve on this cold and wintery night.

Anyway, our rescuer wasn’t far away, about a 40 minute wait, so we’d been told.

I got back to thinking about what I would wear in court and my mind wandered to the interview on the radio talking about our traumatic ordeal!

The dashboard flashed up that the battery was low, we turned everything off except the hazard lights to conserve power – it really was like a disaster movie now. Cars whizzing past from both directions.

Except we refused to get out of the car for safety as my friends suggested when I texted them – “too cold!” was my excuse.

Besides not many parked cars get hit on country roads with their lights off and we were flashing away – on, off, on, off – and I reasoned we were on a straight bit of road quite visible to all who passed. But still ignored by the people in the house – perhaps they were away, or stuck on another road somewhere also a victim of the concrete block gang.

I didn’t worry about being hit but feared the worst about the state of my poor car. Of course, it would be a right off, and we’d end up arriving home on a flashing tow truck – on, off, on, off!

Then I’d have to go through the process of sorting out an insurance claim and getting a new car.

But I’d have my day in court and those rascals who had caused so much inconvenience would get their come-uppance!

The AA man arrived and a very nice man he was too, just like the old adverts used to suggest.

He took a look round and we showed him the offending article, I think I might have suggested calling the police but perhaps he didn’t hear.

He advised me to drive the car up a small ramp so he could take a better look and remove the foreign object.

Good luck with that I thought – Its concrete – I was convinced.

Until he removed a huge square of wood!

Now that wasn’t in the script.

“Fell off the back of a lorry,” he shrugged. An every day occurrence?  Certainly, something that was far more believable than a gang of breeze block thugs.

Was the car OK? He couldn’t see any serious damage.

He suggested I drive it to the next village while he followed in case there was a problem. We could stop there and complete the paperwork (a misnomer these days when it’s all done electronically on a tablet with an illegible finger squiggle signature).

To cut a long story short, everything was fine and we got home safe and sound.

My disastrous fantasies disappeared into the ether. No day in court, no drama, no new car, no ride in a tow truck.

Was I disappointed? I guess not really as everything slipped back into place and life carried on. Just a minor bump in the road of life.

But when did I get to be such a pessimist, thinking up the worst scenario?

I suppose after all I’ve been through very little surprises me these days, so much of my life has spiralled out of control, taking unexpected twists and turns. The word “straightforward” has not been in my vocabulary for many years.

I remember Andrew saying being a pessimist was best because there was something to celebrate when everything turned out ok.

I admit the optimist in me was always down hearted when my plans didn’t work out.

Ultimately it’s better to be pragmatic, somewhere in the middle, my internal train of thought running at a hundred miles an hour, thinking the incredible worst because it might make a good story, while externally exuding confidence that life has thrown a whole lot my way, I’m still standing and whenever the next “real” crisis hits – hopefully - I’ll be ready!