Good news, there’s a garage in the local village.
Bad news, the mechanic hates mending my car.
Two months away and my citroen won’t start and I need the hydraulic suspension working so that I can change the flat tyre.
Usually when I go to visit the garage the conversation goes like this.
Me -I have a problem with my car.
Mechanic –.........
Me- err yes it’s making this weird noise.
Mechanic – pfff.
Me- perhaps you can have a look?
Mechanic – pfff
Car – squeak, crunch, cough, sigh.
Mechanic- pfff
Me- what do you think?
Mechanic- pfff+shake of head and an inhale of breath.
Me-bad?
Mechanic- pppffff
The worst thing about all this is that I end up diagnosing the problem.
Me- I wondered if it was the main transmission thing?
Mechanic- ooooh, pppfff.
The same thing happened this morning, I went, he stood there I gabbled, he shrugged, I suggested, he sucked through his teeth and in desperation I said –“maybe the fuel pump is broken?’
PPPfffff, surely.
That would have been the end of the matter but this time I issued a direct invite to visit the corpse. He came, took him three minutes to start it, I felt stupid (again) and he left.
I wonder if I should pay him something?
PPfff.
More about Living in France here.
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