Ding Dong again

I have to go into hospital for a minor operation of an embarrassing nature and because I am clueless about my own ability to undergo general anaesthetic without a life threatening crisis, I drive myself there. I park in the hospital car park.

I undergo general anaesthetic with the usual life threatening crisis and my Other Half has to bring me home in his car.

After a couple of days recovering at home (OK a week) I go back to retrieve Christine, armed with the jump leads as I know she will be flat. She is, predictably. Less predictable (although maybe I should have been less surprised given the history) was the appearance of a brand new ding. On the opposing flank. And a damp note stuck to the windscreen claiming responsibility.

We return home and I lick my wounds. I am now at the point where I find it difficult to even look at the car, let alone get into it. And I cannot talk about it.