She drove into the garage, just off the motorway, in a taxi. Getting out of the cab, she paid the driver, and he left. She waited. She made no effort to buy petrol or come to the shop. What was going on?
Before too long, a car transporter with Irish number plates drove in off the motorway and also parked up. The woman waved and walked towards it. The watching garage mechanic noticed, rather bemused, that she was wearing a dog collar.
The transporter driver jumped down from his high cab. They shook hands and talked. She handed over a brown package.
The driver unfastened a small, second-hand Peugeot from the back of the transporter, and backed it off on to the ground. After a few more words and another handshake, he climbed back into his cab and drove off.
The woman in the dog collar drove the Peugeot to the pump and filled up with petrol. She paid, got back in, and drove off through the back entrance of the garage into the country roads.
Hmm, he thought. Very fishy.
Now for the inside story. I’d been driving an ancient car which had been stolen and driven into the ground, fixed, had another attempt on its life which had been foiled – but not before the casing for the starter wires had been ripped off and the door broken open again, so fixed again …until the time came when I absolutely had to have another car to drive around our country parishes.
Hub has a cousin in the car business in N Ireland, who had always fixed us up with second-hand cars previously, and we asked him to find me something suitable. He did. We paid and he put it on the next transporter coming over to England. All I needed to do, he said, was to pay the transporter driver for his trouble.
Which is how I came to be meeting a car transporter in a motorway garage in the middle of nowhere, handing over a suspect package, and taking delivery of my ‘new’ car!