It was twenty past eight in the evening that I got the call. I was in the living room, my laptop sitting on top of my lap, frantically concluding this Carchive post to hit a schedule deadline approaching in ten minutes time. So deeply involved was I in typing and rescaling images (somehow making them blurry in the process) that I didn’t notice the phone ringing for several seconds. With a start, I launched the laptop across the sofa and lifted the receiver.
My other, better, infinitely prettier half had fallen prey to mechanical malady in her beloved Peugeot. She was about half an hour away from home and her dashboard had exploded with that big red Peugeot warning light that simply announces “STOP”. There had been much eruption of steam from up front, too, so she had obeyed the Panic Light without dispute. And that was that.
Being the “car person” elect in our household, it was up to me to be heroic. This is how it went down.