What is it with me and flogging televisions? Not in a pugelistic kind of way, you understand, but just in a getting rid of the bleeders. Last time I tried to off-load a widescreen, it developed into a complicated story arc involving violence, a lost Saab immobiliser and a lapsed memory surrounding an errant uncle. This time, similar Curb-Your-Enthusiasm type nonsense prevailed. A lady in Beverley wanted my TV, so I arranged to drive it over to her. After much faffing getting a 28-incher into a J-Reg, I set off, only for the temperature gage to rocket towards critical by the time I reached the West Bulls Carvery. Perturbed, I turned the car around and drove to the garage with me hazards on and a telly in the back, as the temp gauge began to flash alarmingly. Turns out the car has blown a gasket (you're telling me, meaning its a write-off). In a mood of what-the-hey, I struggled to get the TV into another car and drove to Beverley, determinded to make some good of a bogus lunch hour. The potential TV owner was out.
Any takers: One widescreen telly; knackered old Saab
Moment: Going down an old war bunker in a Leeds back garden. It had rooms going off rooms!
Glad to be leaving the Mail moment: My boss sends out an email advertising my job, on less cash, and 20 minutes later sends another e-mail saying: "Obviously, we're sorry to see Laurie go".