Sunday, 11 August 2013


Last Wednesday morning started out like any other. An irritable grumble as I drag myself out of bed, complaining loudly about the fact that the other half gets to stay in bed for another hour or two due to the fact that his shift that day doesn’t start until 11.30. I pulled clothes at random from my wardrobe hoping that they went together, dragged the hairbrush through my hair and hobbled, bleary-eyed down the stairs. Made up my breakfast and lunch and shoved them into a bag, together with a yoghurt and some fruit to get me through another gruelling 10.5hr shift. I feel I should point out here that, due to the fact I start work at 8am I take breakfast with me, favouring and extra 10 minutes sleep over eating breakfast before I leave. After giving myself a once over in the mirror, checking that the clothes I had chosen did indeed match, I left that house and started on the twenty minute journey to work. Nothing unusual in this you may think. I indeed was thinking the same thing until about 15 minutes into my journey. This was the point when, having stopped at a roundabout to allow for two motorcycles, I was hit from behind. It took a few seconds, after the initial impact, the sound of smashing glass and being thrown forward with such force that my head only just missed the steering wheel (thank goodness for seatbelts), to realise what had happened. Luckily there was a lay-by a few yards down the road so we pulled in. I was dreading what I was going to see when I got out. I was expecting my taillights to have bitten the dust at least. So I was pleasantly surprised to find that the only visible damage was that my once blue paintwork was now that same shade of red as the vehicle that had hit me. After exchanging details, and waiting for my hands to stop shaking, I set off, intending to finish my journey to work. However, two minutes down the road I became apparent that the paintwork wasn’t the only problem. There was a definite rattle coming from the back of the car, which sounded suspiciously like my exhaust. So, I turned around at the next opportunity and made my way home. Somehow I managed to keep myself calm until I walked through the front door and shouted to the other half that I wasn’t going to work. “Why?” came his concerned response, at which point I burst into tears, sobbing that in my eight years of driving I’ve never had an accident, and now someone just drove into the back of me. Then I had to start with the many many phone calls. The call to work to let them know I wouldn’t be in. The call to the doctor’s surgery (the whiplash was starting to set in by now). The phone calls to the insurance company, the conversation with the hire car company, the call I received from the Solicitor wanting to act on my behalf, followed by a call from a physiotherapist! I felt very popular! Later that day I had two sets of painkillers, over £10 worth of charges on my mobile bill thanks to the number of 08 numbers I had to call and a very nice Vauxhall Corsa courtesy car. I know what my next car is going to be! Five days later I still have the courtesy car and thankfully the whiplash has almost worn off (although I still have a banging headache). I say thankfully because the painkillers were subjecting me to full afternoons on the sofa. “May Cause Drowsiness”……hmmmmmmmmm

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