Some people are very easily pleased. They tell you what they want for their birthday. You buy it. They love it. But where’s the surprise? Where’s the clandestine checking sizing, ordering and then trying to take delivery, in secret, of a hopefully misleading shaped box. This year, Husband said he wanted to go on a course on how to wash his car. Specifically, the name and place of the company that run the course. So the only surprise element was going to be the day I chose to book it. So long as it was at the weekend and before the cricket season started. My research led me to find out that they didn’t run the course on a Sunday. So the “surprise” element was significantly reduced. I also thought I could show him how to wash his car for 1/100th the cost, but I don’t think that would have been as acceptable.
On said day, he left at the crack of sparrow’s, waking the hamlet with his superturbo exhaust button set to max, and arrived a few hours later at the cleaning facility. About two hours later, I receive a text: “This is the best birthday present, ever”. I am still a little dumbstruck as to how learning to wash and polish your car (detailing, apparently) can be described as the best birthday present ever. My list is too exhaustive to write here but would include some sort of food adventure, a fancy-pants hotel (even if just for a few hours), a trip to the seaside/mountains, or just a dinner at home followed by a film and some very tasty chocolates. But more than a few hours later, maybe when the owl was hooting, he returned with a boot-load of new wipes, creams and ointments, and an enormous smile in his face, clutching his certificate.
With his new-found expertise, he spends many happy hours washing his car, and mine, and could even get a job as a professional if things ever go pear-shaped in the world of financial editing.
We are off on a Driving Adventure. Right now. In a beautifully clean car…I daren’t mention the smeary bits on my side of the windscreen but I can surreptitiously wipe them off at the first petrol stop. We’re heading to Folkestone Holiday Inn so we can be in pole position early tomorrow morning at the chunnel. It’ll be snowing when we reach Davos. You have been warned.
Snoo's kitchen 