Sutton Park in that delightful industrial Mecca that is Birmingham always makes me think of seeds. Sutton's Seeds. I lack
fundamental basics when it comes to knowledge of cars, their engines, what makes them go. I put
key in
ignition, I turn it and if it doesn't work, I'll calmly get out and try
key in another car's ignition. Only joking. Basically, if it doesn't work, I'll shrug, get out, stick out my thumb and get a lift with someone who has a car who has a key that seemed to work that morning. Or something.
Now batteries exist not only in torches that you find in
boots of cars, but actually, I have since learnt, exist in engines as well and need to remain fully charged.
So, when me and my sweetheart used to go and drive to Sutton Park (see, there is logic to this piece) and feel all clandestine and excited, if it was raining we would sit in
car until
rain had passed. We were remarkably lucky with our clandestineness cos
weather would as a rule hold out for us. A passing shower was
only dampener to our ardour.
But on one particularly wet Thursday, our ardour was well and truly brought to an abrupt halt by that most typical of Britishy weathers, a drizzle. Not a monsoon. Just a wistful drizzle. We retired back to
car from
bushes and sat.
And sat.
Time to put
radio on. Well,
weather stayed
same, and a couple of hours later it was time for us to go our separate ways. However, having
radio on for two or so hours had made
key used to turn
engine on not work.
I'm courting a lady here and am in a tight spot. She sagely informs me that
battery has gone flat, due to our having been playing
radio whilst
car has been parked.