Whew. Well, at least now I'm home, if not with as many cars as I left with this morning.

The breakdown guy had a portable jump-start power pack which seemed to do a much better job than my colleague's attempt, and got poor old Arthur started with no difficulty. What to do next was the problem, since I needed a new battery and nowhere that would sell me one was still open; I could have driven home and sorted it all out tomorrow, but that would have meant calling someone out again to get the car to a purveyor of batteries, and that would have been far more expensive since my hastily-reinstated breakdown cover doesn't cover me when I'm actually at home (never quite worked that one out).

Eventually we drove the car round to the garage where I usually get it serviced (or rather, said garage's new premises, which aren't where they were last time I went there), found an all-night security officer, and my breakdown guy persuaded him to open the gate so we could put the car inside the compound where it might be halfway safe overnight. So tomorrow I have to ring the garage and explain that my car needs fixing: ‘Certainly, sir, just bring it round and we'll – ’ ‘Um, actually, you've already got it.’ Which should be good for a few laughs, for values of ‘laugh’ which are probably closer to ‘annoying bureaucratic obstacle caused by not doing things the expected way’.

Now I'm back at home, but unfortunately I have no food because I'd planned to hit Sainsburys on my way home. I think a takeaway pizza is very much in order, followed by intensive sofa therapy. *flop*