Fasten your Seat Belt

I won’t make this one long as I’m having trouble sitting down at the moment.

I got the strap again last night, Catherine’s one. (If you’ve missed the significance of this, read Robot in Disguise.)

Yesterday, I put my car in for service and “MOT” as it is called here in England, in Australia we called it “Roadworthy”, the annual test to make sure your car is safe both for you and the other users of the highway. No problem there. The problem was, well:

Catherine: You’re later that you said; I thought you had today off classes?

Kirsten: I did, I had to collect my car from St Albans first so there was a bit of bussing to do.

C: Why was your car in St Albans?

K: MOT, at the garage.

C: So it’s alright then?

K: Oh yes, it always was, just needed to get MOT as it’s due on December 1 st . There wasn’t a problem, but I had to drop the car in on the way to school, and then pick it up just now coming home.

C: Okay, explain the journey.

K: Huh?

C: Where did you go that was “bussing”?

K: Oh. Umm, I drove to St Albans, put the car in the garage, walked up to St Albans City station to the busses, caught the bus to Hatfield station, and then walked up to school from there.

(BTW, Hatfield station is not on the same line as St Albans City, which is why I didn’t use the train, in case you are wondering. They are parallel lines into London.)

K: Then home the same way, walked down to Hatfield with some of the children, bus to St Albans, then walked to the garage and drove home. Done and dusted for £149, plus bus, which was £3.30.

C: That’s a bit of a palaver Kirstie; couldn’t someone have driven you from St Albans?

K: Yeah I suppose so, but I...

(Sudden realisation here.)

(Catherine nodding.)

K:...I didn’t think to ask for help. Oh Catie no, please don’t.

C: Let’s just check the facts first, to see if you could have relied on your friends. Who could you have asked?

K: Umm, well there’s...[Kirsten names three teachers who live in St Albans]. I suppose I could have asked any of them.

C: And who else?

K: Umm.

C: Where does Hanie live?

K: Who?

C: Don’t ‘who’ me, young lady. Johanna DeKievert, your mate. Where does she live?

(Deeper sudden realisation here: my best friend other than Catherine herself is Hanie, and she lives in St Albans. Hanie teaches at my school.)

K: But Catie she lives in the western bit, she’d have had to come back into town and then back past her house to have collected me for school.

C: Hmm. And who else?

K: No...No, but, but Catie you work in St Albans, you wouldn’t have wanted to take me all the way to Hatfield and then back again.

C: All the way is six miles each way Kirsten Louisa, hardly an epic journey. Is it?

K: No Catherine.

C: So instead of asking me, your best friend, to go out of her way...instead of asking your best colleague at work to go out of her way...instead of asking people you work with and who would have been driving past, or close by, to help you, you took the bus.

(I start to sob here, this will not end well for me. But more than that I am entirely ashamed of myself.)

C: Go to my room.

K: Oh, please Catie.

C: Kirsten Louisa?

K: Yes, Catherine. I’m very sorry.

C: I know darling, and so am I.

So then it all went pretty much to form: tights and knickers down, over her knee for about ten minutes of hand spanking to tenderise the meat, then nine vicious lashes of the belt as I bent over the back of the same wooden chair.

I really hate it when my friends let me down...but when I let my friends down it kills me.

And when I let myself down...