Wish Me Luck...

There's a lot of things that scare us in life – checking the New Year bank balance, a trip to the dentist, commitment, the worrying red-print envelopes in the letterbox, bumping into Jo Brand at the end of a hunger strike...

Essentially, the root of all fear is the element of the unknown, and the anticipation of the event is often worse than the result itself. The unscientifically proven fact to counter all your fear is that the worst very rarely happens.

We all think we're the unluckiest people in the world don't we? The weight of everything on our shoulders, just shuffling from one head-bollocking catastrophe to the next. But think about it – things are never really that bad, are they?

For a start, bad things are mostly your own doing – it's a rare occurrence that the actions of someone else can totally screw you up. Being the architect of your own undoing is the thing that gets you grabbing for the noose quicker than a Texas high-court judge.

”Why did I say that???” “Why did I do that???”

The self-loathing makes the pain so much harder – it's far easier if things are outside of your control, or if it's something you have no understanding of. Out of your hands, no responsibility. ”I don't know any better – not my fault”.

Well, you'd think it would make things easier – but I'm terrified about what could happen tomorrow. My car is up for a service and it's first MOT...

You may have read my story a week or so back about my dabble with the dentist, but baby – that has nothing on this. My last stint at the garage cost me more than 500 big ones, and with a post-Christmas bank account looking emptier than a supermodel's head on Mastermind, it's a bit of a concern.

Again, it's the unknown that's scaring me here. My knowledge of automobile engineering is up there with Ricky Butcher's outlook on Quantum Physics. I haven't got a chuffing clue how a car works – as far as I know you simply turn the key and put your foot down. And avoid hitting things.

I'm just waiting for that phone-call from the garage informing me that my something-fluid is low, or the gear-something needs replacing, or the jizzmatic-wazzmadoodle is borked. They could be making the whole sodding thing up, charge me Northern Rock's government debt, and I'd be none the wiser. In fact, I'll probably even thank them for it and buy them flowers for their trouble, like an idiotic car-maintenance-phobic sado-masochist.

So, wish me luck on this one – anything fishy I get charged for, I'll let you know. And you can chuckle your spleen out about what a gullible, shagwitted auto-luddite I am.