Bird In The Hand...

...Completing - one so fervently hopes - the tale of the rental car I must first once more give vent.

Whilst away three phone calls received from 'Rara Avis'.

The first to ask whether I should be wanting the vehicle for more than the two courtesy days. A reasonable question except that that one had already been asked and fully and twice answered. A third bite at the same matter was as ineffectual as irksome. This point was soundly made.

Ah then, in which case a credit card number would be needed to secure payment. That too perfectly acceptable had not such a number already been provided to the chap who delivered the first and defective car. [See as ever previous.] That point was made with a certain greater vigour.

Second phone call was from another wing of the company demanding to know why I had returned a defective vehicle less than two hours after taking charge of it. What! A complete misreading of their own paper work and I'm now suddenly seen as the villain of the piece.

Some singularly trenchant verbal admonition had to ensue. Apologies offered by them for their misunderstanding and none by myself for the rant.

Then we arrive home having confirmed by a third phone call that the car would be picked up on the Saturday morning. "What time would suit you Sir?" they properly asked. Ten of the morning was my reply. So naturally by the half past ten and no sign of the arrival of men needed to retrieve the thing I was on the blower once more.

No reply to first call. Second attempt and one did get through. "Oh well," they said. "We can't be sure when we're going to be coming, except to say it won't be today!"

More rant. Loud, long and rather ripping.

Just leave the key under a stone or something, no need to be there in person I was informed. Well yes there was, not least to confirm no damage to vehicle whilst under my care and that it was being returned with contractual full tank of fuel.

And if it were stolen? Oh that would not be Sir's liability. Why? Because I'm telling you so. (This coming from a company whose word to date has been as trustworthy as snake oil!)

Two hours later call comes through they are on their way. They come. Car - duly inspected - goes.

Two entire levels of being here. One, the fantasy world that managers about the place believe to be occurring because that's what should be happening. Two, the real world of actual delivery of service bearing no more resemblance to the theory than Tony Blair to a decent human being.

And on that last point, had Father Joshua over for supper last week. A kindly man and a welcome visitor, despite - or perhaps because - of his being of the Papish persuasion. "If that lying bastard Blair becomes a Catholic then I'm going to demand of the Vatican that I'm excommunicated forthwith!" I doubt the theology is sound or the adherence to canon law precise in word or spirit, but one does so take his point.

(H pops in to say that preparations for the End of Blair party are in full swing and did we want a brass band playing for the stroke of midnight? Excellent notion as ever from the beloved!)