Day 218: Leaking Fuel

Today I make the poor decision to go to the supermarket.  I have forgotten that St Albans is hosting a half-marathon, and affiliated 8k and 5k fun runs.  Roads are closed, and I am stuck in traffic gridlock.  I try back routes - gridlock as well.  I am dangerously low on petrol.  This is not good, but there's no point turning back.  It will take just as long to get home.  I think when I crossed the roundabout at the garage, I crossed the Rubicon.  I just didn't realise it at the time. 

Finally make it to the supermarket, but there are no parking spaces.  At all.  I have never experienced this - not even on Christmas Eve.  Go to the petrol station, in hopes that spaces will become available when I'm done.  Four of the eight pumps are out of action, so there are massive queues.  There's quite a bit of ambient rage going on. Fill up - and become aware that my clever locking fuel cap will not lock.  It makes all the right noises, but is sitting on the outlet rather like a biscuit balanced on a cup of tea - charming, but precarious.  Cannot faff around, there are impatient cars behind me.  Have to drive off with fifty quid's worth of petrol probably sloshing out of the tank. 

Still no spaces.  Park illegally.  Do shopping - worry about petrol evaporating out of tank.  Surprised that the supermarket is relatively quiet.  Realise that the parking spaces are being unfairly used by the runners.  Grit teeth.  Shop.  Buy emergency fuel cap.  I'm not sorry to possess one of these.  I might use it for my my mouth.  (Not in a gimpy way - just for stoppering up when energy would be better conserved than wasted.)

Try to get home.  Gridlock.  Try different routes.  Gridlock.  Feel like getting out of the car, lying on the verge and giving up.  Grind teeth and gears. 

A trip that should have taken half an hour takes over two. 

I have measured out my life in coffee spoons.  WHY CAN I NOT FLY, FFS?? 

(OK, OK.  I hear myself.  This seems like an ideal opportunity for the UEFC.  Shhh, now.)