I finish playing 5 a-side and notice that I have three missed calls on my mobile, all from my old flatmate. This can mean one of two things, either he has some sort accountancy based emergency, or he has the phone in his pocket and is calling me by accident. There is no voicemail message from him which sounds like the inside of a pocket, so I call back.

“Hi Angry, I need a favour, can you pick me up from the Audi garage?”

“Hmph. OK, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I drive to pick him up, and he sits in the front seat forlornly. This is surprising, as today was the day he picked up his new car.

“So” I ask “What happened.”

“Well, I picked up my new car, and very nice it is too, and on the way home I stopped to fill up with petrol, and splashed out on that good unleaded stuff, as a little treat for my new baby. I paid, and then I pulled out onto the dual carriageway and the car grinded to a halt.”

“And that’s when I realised I had bought a diesel.”

He has owned a diesel for five years. Actually, he has owned a diesel for 5 years and twenty minutes if you include his new one. He was surprisingly chipper about it for someone about to spend a few hundred pounds fixing a mistake that, generally speaking, only retards make. This is one of the significant differences between us. He is not normally a retard, except on one or two previous occasions.

I dropped him at home and got out my phone to begin texting everyone we know.

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