Sunday, 5 April 2015
Alas and alack, the car has finally died. It has come to an end while queuing for the Blackwall Tunnel, which is never a good place to break down, overheating because the fan switch packed up. I had a photographer waiting for me at my studio being looked after by the ever resourceful and excellent intern while I waited for the AA who were, as usual, brilliant. I sat with Polly the spaniel by the side of the A12 watching other gaskets being blown, this time in human form as drivers fumed at the traffic jam. The garage assures me that despite the repairs, this time the problem is terminal. I doubt that there is anyone looking for a very elderly Corsa in need of attention, despite the smell of dead and rotting squirrel (not a new fragrance found in car shops, but a reminder of some piping in October 2012) being finally overridden by the rather stronger aroma of wet dog.