Life's A Beach.

It all began, as these things so often do, with a text message, and as usual with emergencies it came just as I was sitting down to eat. One word it was, 'help'. It was from Tricia, my extremely handsome son George's mother. I used to know her quite well.

Thinking she was in dire straights, and extremely concerned for her welfare, I immediately dashed straight round to her house after I had finished my late breakfast, bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages, black pudding tomatoes, baked beans, and fried bread, with two slices of thickly buttered toast and three mugs of tea.

After such a big breakfast I naturally had to have a bit of a lie down to recover. As I was lying there, my tummy full and feeling slightly gaseous, the phone rang. It was Tricia. "Did you get my text message?" She asked me.

"I am on my way," I said, "If you would stop bombarding me with text messages, I would have been there by now."

"I only sent one text," she said.

By this time I was at the back door of her house, and went in. "You are not here." I said.

"Where?"

"At the house."

"I am at the beach," she said. "I have been walking the dogs."

"Why didn't you say?"

"I am telling you now. That is why I rang."

"Why do you need help?"

"I lost my car keys."

So I drive down to the beach and there is Tricia looking unhappy and forlorn, with her three little terriers looking happy and lorn. Seeing her like that I of course went into caring and concerned mode. "Why can't you be more bleedin' careful, you silly cow?" This little entreaty cheered her up immensely, as I knew it would.

We then spent the next couple of hours retracing her steps, fruitlessly searching three miles of sand and shingle for her keys. It was a task made even more hopeless by the fact that the tide was now coming in rapidly, and covering the areas she had walked.

There is a spare key but it is in the glove compartment inside the securely locked vehicle. Utilising all the skills garnered from my mispent youth, I then try to break into the car. All to no avail. I wasn't any good at it as a youth either. But I like to pretend I know these tricks.

The AA man was called. He opened the car in less than two minutes, and joy of joy, Tricia found the spare key, put it in the ignition and started the car. Hooray! At last. Success.

The engine cut out. The AA man looked at the key and informed us that it hadn't been programmed with the identity number of the car. So although it would start the car it would immobilise it if she tried to drive away. So the spare key was totally flipping useless. What is the point of a spare key that hasn't been programmed. Apparently it should have been done when the car was new. About fifteen years ago.

I am fed up with this tale now. Here is a short version: Car keys lost. Can't afford locksmith. Leave car at beach overnight. Look for keys again this morning. No luck. Arrange to get new key. Not available til Friday. Phone AA they will take car to garage on trailer. Get car back Friday afternoon. Sorted. The AA is a wonderful organisation. We have family membership, which works out very cheaply indeed. Good on you AA!

Of course there are lots of little dramas associated with lost car keys. Tricia has to get to work. Be places, do shopping etc. I offer her the use of my car, but she won't drive it 'cos it is too big. Women eh! So I have been driving her around and picking her up when needed. I am an absolute saint at times.

By the way I didn't really call her a silly cow, or tell her to be more bleedin' careful. I wouldn't talk to Tricia like that. It would be more than my life's worth. I only wrote that to make the story a bit livelier. I do tend to get carried away sometimes. I never spent ages having a huge breakfast either. I don't know why I say these things. Something to do with story telling perhaps?

Now the bleedin' TV aerial isn't working. No signal. I offered to get on the roof and install a new aerial, but luckily they are going to install Sky TV instead. It works off a satellite dish, and it's installed free!