Broken dreams

Yesterday I was supposed to take delivery of my spanking new company car. I'd been waiting for it for 6 months. SIX MONTHS!

I'd ordered an Audi A3 Quattro, so that I could pretend that I was Alex Drake, the crime fighting side kick to Ashes To Ashes hero, Gene Hunt. I'd buy Husband a camel coat and leather driving gloves and he'd shout, 'Fire up the quattro, you dozy old bint!' I'd raise my eyebrows and would run gracefully in my spike stiletto heels to the driver's door.

Well, we know that it wouldn't really be like that, as I'd twist my ankle on the way out of the front door, or have to change into my driving shoes whilst sitting on the edge of the boot. Yet, I could dream.

But no. NO! It wasn't to be. The Audi dealer called yesterday morning to tell me that my beautiful car had been stolen from the delivery depot the night before. And that the waiting time for a new one is now nine months. NINE MONTHS! I should have shouted that I could have a baby in that time, but we both would have known that was unlikely - the Audi dealer bloke could probably tell that just by my voice.

Anyway, the company car man rang me today to say that the police haven't managed to find the car (you don't say), it's a gonner. I'll have to pick something else from stock or re-order and wait.

'What's important to you in your choice?' he asked. I managed to stop myself from waffling on about paint colour, seat pattern and number of doors. I spoke about the need for a four wheel drive, 170bhp and engine size. Acceptable stuff, I think. I veered off into asking for satnav and 'a connection thingy for an i-pod' but managed to pull it back with my request for an auto-dimming rear view mirror.

I'm now waiting for the call back, probably to tell me that my delivery of a 900cc Austin Allegro is on it's way. That will teach me to have ideas above my station.