I have a car. It's rather nice. For those of you who know about these things, it's a Fiat 500, in a metallic blue. For those of you who don't, it's a small, cute blue car, a little bit shorter than a new Mini.

Four days after I picked it up from the dealer, I drove over to my parents' place to show it off. While we were having a cuppa, we heard a bang from outside, went to investigate, and found that some testosterone-crazed teenager (probably) had clipped the wing mirror, breaking the glass and knocking the cover off.

We couldn't find the cover.

So back the car went, to the dealer's in the West End. I now fully understand why it's a stupid idea to drive into the West End in the morning.

One repair later (more expensive than they first said, of course), I drove the car back home, and fully understood why driving from the West End is an equally stupid idea. Especially when you go into the wrong lane at Angel and have to drive up and down the full length of Upper Street.

So, Sunday, burge and I went off to alasdair's for regular nerdery, with me driving. Came off the motorway and noticed three things.

1) There was a funny smell.
2) There was smoke coming from the front of the car and through the dashboard vents.
3) People were beeping their horns at me and yelling 'Oi! Mate! Mate! You're on fire!'

That grabbed my attention, so we pulled off and checked under the bonnet.

There was a big, shiny hole where the oil filler cap should be. And oil all over the engine. And oil all over the inside of the bonnet. And a lot of smoke.

Now, I haven't opened the bonnet since I picked the car up from the showroom. Why would I? So either:

(a) for some reason, the garage did an oil check while they were replacing the wing mirror and didn't put the cap back on (and why they'd need to take the cap off to check the oil, I don't know); or
(b) it was on loose right from the start and finally fell off; or
(c) it was faulty.

Anyway, burge took over the driving and drove very carefully to alasdair's place, about half an hour away, and we called out the AA, who shortly arrived in the shape of a young bloke called Andy.

Things you don't ever want to hear an AA man say:
"Bloody hell, mate! You're bloody lucky the engine didn't blow up!"

He cleaned the engine up as best he could, poured in a litre of fresh oil (because there was virtually none left actually in the engine) and applied an ingenious but worrying temporary fix. My engine is now sealed by a crsip packet (Walker's, Cheese & Onion flavour) and a plastic cable tie. Crisp packets, apparently, are very heat resistant. But they have to be the foil-lined kind. Any flavour will do, though.

And so burge drove us, very carefully, home. But she did enjoy the drive.

This morning consisted of speaking in measured tones to the Fiat garage. The AA will shortly be arriving at my flat to tow my lovely new car back to the garage. Again.

I had to go to the doctor's this morning to get my blood pressure checked. Oddly, it was normal.