I’ve had a tiny, achievable goal for a while – to own a wine glass. A long-stemmed glass, elegant. For that one or two drinks in the evening. I said I’d wait until there was a kitchen shelf capable of housing a glass like that, and there almost is so I broke down and bought one. At Tesco, for 50p. Carried it in its own “road case” as Eric called it (the cardboard caddy they were selling them in) for three weeks, in and out of hotel rooms even. Thrilled to my first glass at home – perching on the couch, glass in hand, no more generic jelly jar or that squat amber French nonbreakable glass. The fantasy was real.
And then today I broke the glass.
I’m sure I can find another. The car is another story. It really is gone. Stolen from outside the garage where it had been repaired. The garagiste is mortified. He may know who did it but he tried getting near the place and the dogs came after him and scared him off. He asked the local police and they told him they were afraid of the dogs too.
I made like Columbo today, hanging around the shop across the street from the garage, seeing what was up. In honesty the only similarity between me and Columbo is that I was wearing a raincoat. I heard people in the shop talking about how “no one will park near here now” and strained to make out more. It’s true, there have been more cars stolen lately. But the people in the shop were chuckling about it – do they know something?
We’ve got a plan, maybe only in our heads, involving a gang of us and an ambulance and some very loudspeakers playing “Ride Of The Valkyries”. And a cage with meat and tranquilizers.
And a toast to the prodigal Ford Escort, with a slightly sturdier wineglass.