HAVING awoken in somewhat ill-temper, I motor over to the allotments for some solace clearing wintery debris. As the plots are close by, requiring precious little indication of imminent turns, it’s a journey I do not mind making without indicators, having not yet managed to find a suitable local mechanic.
I park up in my usual spot and somehow, as I’m exiting the Lightweight, manage to knock my leg against the handbrake. It’s not like my leg muscles are comparable to Arnold Schwarzenegger’s in his heyday but the impact knocks the handbrake completely off.
“Eh?” I say aloud,
