Possibly in karmic revenge for the melodrama of that last post, yesterday I pranged (merkin: “crashed”) my car.

I got rear-ended by a chap driving a commodore just near the Noble Park train crossing. My car remained essentially car-shaped, but his was completely mashed. Mercifully, we both turned out to be comprehensively insured, with the same insurer. I have already been confirmed by my insurer as being ‘not-at-fault’, so I won’t be paying nuffin’ for the repairs, and I get a gratis rental car for the next fortnight.
Neither he nor I seem to be in any way injured, but I am still waiting for the accursed Mayne Radiology to un-lose my X-ray report confirming that I don’t have a broken neck. My head having not yet fallen off, I am quietly confident.

E did a wonderful job of looking after me, and was endlessly patient with the various doctors, radiologists, car-assessors, car-repairers, car insurers, car rental agents and hordes of polite secretaries who we encountered yesterday.

The only respect in which the whole thing was really inconvenient was that it used up a sick-day, and my car wasn’t badly bent enough to get written off. That would have been really handy.