So let us join Neville Martin Painswick as he arrives at work....

He pulled up outside his unit and smiled as he saw Nigel Lamington-Krill’s Jensen parked in the yard beside the Volvo and the Shogun also booked in for today. His young assistant Melvin would be in later when his father dropped him off on his way to the hospital in Mackerel to visit his mother and her new twins which were a source of some bewilderment to the Tredwell family. Neville was a kind-hearted employer and was prepared to accommodate Melvin’s slightly irregular hours as he was showing great promise and was a very willing worker.

Neville unlocked the door to his workshop and stepped over three sets of keys which had been posted through the letterbox the evening before. He opened up the rolling shutters at the front of the unit and as the morning sunshine streamed in, he flicked on the switch to the radio and the sound of Mozart filled the air. He pulled on his boiler suit, breathed in deeply then walked over to pick up the keys.

“Right, Volvo first,” he said to himself as he walked to the kettle and switched it on. He got no further with making tea as he realised that the milk in the bottle he picked up had gone solid, and would have to wait until Melvin arrived with fresh supplies. He shrugged and walked out to Vanessa Sellerby-Corbett’s car, unlocked it and drove it on to the ramps in the workshop. He was standing beside the hydraulic controls when the telephone rang, so Neville walked across the workshop, turned down the radio then picked up the handset. It was Mrs Baddesley-Fanshawe wishing to book in her husband’s Aston Martin for a service. The day was duly agreed and Neville entered the details in the large, oily finger-printed diary accordingly.

Neville was engrossed beneath the back axle when Colonel Whipstock arrived with his slightly dented Bristol. The Colonel never had displayed much inclination to employ any social graces and sounded the horn vigorously in order to gain Neville’s attention. Neville climbed out from under the Volvo, wiped his hands on a rag, and knowing the Colonel to be fairly deaf, said quietly, “That’s alright you old bugger, I’ll come to you, you just sit there……..” – then as he approached the Bristol and its occupant, called out, “Good morning, shall we have a look at the damage?” as the Colonel wound down his window.
“Bloody shame that idiot landlord decided to put bloody tubs of flowers in the car park – looks bloody ridiculous, I mean it’s a car park for god’s sake, not a bloody garden…” Colonel Whipstock flung open the car door and levered himself out of the leather upholstery. Neville thought it best not to proffer assistance as he observed the overweight, gnarled, wheezing and bewhiskered old goat.
“I think this can be beaten out without too much trouble, but I think we’ll have to replace the ….” Neville Martin Painswick did not get to complete his sentence as Melvin’s father drove round the end of the building rather too fast and failed to take the necessary avoiding action before ploughing into the back of the Bristol and shunting it forward a few feet, which caught the Colonel’s knee and felled him like an oak. He lay in the oily dirt spluttering and wheezing, arms flailing and Neville looked on completely aghast, almost unable to comprehend the scene before him.
“What the….” he began as Melvin’s father got out of his Astra.
William Tredwell was not normally a man given to outward displays of emotion but, trembling, he shouted hoarsely at Neville as he walked towards him, “What a bloody stupid place to leave a car …” and then, in less abrasive tone and pointing at the Colonel, “Is he alright?” Rather nonplussed, Neville responded “I don’t know. Bloody well help me with him. You were driving like a moron anyhow.”

The two men reached Colonel Whipstock who had managed to manoeuvre himself onto his side, clutching his knee and groaning, and they heaved him upright taking one armpit each and sat him on an overturned oil drum. William Tredwell shouted to Melvin, who had been trying ineffectually to mop up the milk which had been jettisoned into the footwell by the abrupt conclusion to their journey, to ring for an ambulance, but this order was promptly countermanded by Neville who said he could drive the Colonel to the casualty department. The Colonel barked that he didn’t need any bloody ambulances, hospitals, what a lot of fuss, but was overcome by the pain of his injury and slipped, ashen, gasping and barely conscious back into the dirt before Neville and William had the chance to prevent his collapse.

“Christ, is he having a heart attack?”
“Melvin, ring an ambulance NOW” yelled Neville Martin Painswick. A tense twenty minutes ensued during which time Colonel Whipstock was not particularly lucid but he was made as comfortable as practicable under the circumstances. William and Neville decided he was safer on the floor, besides which, he was a not inconsiderable weight to attempt to raise.

The ambulance crew diagnosed shock and a broken leg and were to be congratulated upon the deftness with which they managed to lift the Colonel into the back of the ambulance, and not least, the diplomatic way in which they handled their irascible patient who was heard insisting forcefully as they fastened the doors that he have a private bed.

“I suppose you’ll have to pass your insurance details to the old boy when he’s up to it – I can’t carry out these major bloody repairs without the insurance company’s say-so. My day’s really buggered now.”
“Ah, yes,” faltered William Tredwell. “I’m, um, sort of between insurances at the moment, what with the twins and everything……”
“Jesus Christ, I don’t believe it!” exploded Neville Martin Painswick, then, flatly, added “Oh too bad, it’s not my problem, I’ll just have to find out from the Colonel where he wants the car left and I wash my hands of it. You, mate, are in the shit. In fact, I wouldn’t draw attention to myself in that car if I were you.”

William Tredwell was indeed in the mire.
“Look mate, couldn’t you at least stick a new headlight in for me so I’m legal and I’ll get it insured today. Melvin still needs a lift ‘til he can afford a car and there’s Deirdre and the twins. I’ll be completely stuffed…”
Neville Martin took a deep breath then said “Oh alright, but you owe me big time and how’re you going to sort things with the Colonel?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ll have to persuade him to settle without involving the bloody insurance company, but I haven’t got that sort of money – what are we looking at – at least a thousand? Don’t suppose Melvin could work it off in overtime?”
Until this juncture, Melvin had omitted to opine upon the situation, but now felt constrained to offer his point of view:
“Thanks, Dad. P’raps I should become a rent boy – would that help? If you hadn’t been driving too bloody fast none of this would have happened.”
“Here we have doctor Melvin Tredwell MD, professor of the bleedin’ obvious,” retorted his father. Melvin cursed his parentage quietly and stalked angrily into the workshop.
“Sorry, mate. Anyhow, if we can get this headlight sorted I’ll be off.”
“Yeah, right.”

It took Neville half an hour to effect the necessary running repairs during which time William Tredwell inspected closely the damage to the rear of the Bristol. He did not however confine himself to mere visual inspection and Neville became intensely irritated to find bits pulled off, a rear light half dismantled and the number plate unscrewed, with William Tredwell now sitting in the driver’s seat fiddling with the controls and stroking the walnut veneer.
“Get your bloody hands off that car,” shouted Neville.
“Sorry mate, I was just looking. Keep your hair on…”
“Look – I’ve patched up your car. Just go away and get it insured and leave me in peace.”

Neville Martin Painswick watched Mr Tredwell reverse into an overgrown bank, shrug his shoulders then drive off with a clod of grassy earth embedded in his rear bumper. Neville shook his head, then running his fingers through his thick dark hair, sighed and walked back to the workshop, calling out to Melvin,
“Make us some tea would you?”
“It’ll have to be black – no milk mate,” came the reply. Exasperated, through gritted teeth Neville said to Melvin, “Is there anything your father comes into contact with that doesn’t go wrong?”
“Hopefully my job,” replied Melvin nervously.
“Hey, he’s not your fault! I’ll nip to the corner shop and get some milk. D’you want to get going on changing the oil in the Jensen? I’ll be back in ten minutes then maybe we’ll get some work done.”

An inauspicious start to the day - more fun tomorrow.