It seems that something is conspiring against us ever getting the new flat finished in time.
I was really organised this morning. I had a whole day of child-juggling and flat stuff purchasing scheduled, squeezed in between the weekly supermarket shop and my Dad's birthday party. It was planned with military precision.
And what happens?
The bloody car's brakes fail en route to Habitat.
In hindsight, we were really lucky. Put it this way, if a car's brakes are to fail it's better for it to happen when you're slowing down for traffic lights in an urban area, rather than on the fast lane of the motorway at 70mph.
So we call the RAC, explain what's happened and that there are two small children in the car. No problem, they say, you're on the priority list, we'll have someone out to you soon. How soon? we ask. Within two hours, they assure us. OK, so that's not exactly soon but it's manageable. Two hours later, the rare joy of being let loose in the car and encouraged to press buttons, beep the horn etc is starting to wear off for Firstborn and the Small(er) One. Trouble starts to brew.
We call the RAC again. They can't find us on the system. Errr, they say, we'll call you back. While we're waiting for the call we see two RAC vans amble merrily past us. They don't stop. We bribe the children with chocolate in a futile attempt to stop them killing each other. The RAC finally calls back. Someone will be with you in less than an hour, they assure us. Now, I'm not too good at maths but...
To cut a long story short, we finally got the car towed FOUR AND A HALF HOURS after we made our first call to the RAC.
Priority? I think not.
Total waste of a day? That's for sure.