ARCH E-TYPAL ACCIDENT
Our good friends from Ireland, Billy and Molly O'Sorras spent the weekend with us, and brought their three grown-up sons, Patrick, Dermot and Tyrone.
As I showed them round the house, we went through the garage where I keep my prized 1961 vintage Jaguar E-Type, with the sleek, elongated bonnet, stunning wire wheels and beautiful chrome work. They gasped in awe.
Later that day, Billy asked me if his sons could take the Jag for a run, as all three are car fanatics and had never driven anything like that. I was reticent, but Billy insisted they were all very careful drivers and would look after my cr as if it was their own, so I finally relented and handed over the keys.
Patrick, the oldest, went out first, and an hour later came back with a huge smile on his face, saying he'd never enjoyed a car so much. Then Dermot took it out, and an hour later was back, thanking me effusively for the pleasure of driving my car.
Then it was the turn of Tyrone, the youngest. An hour later we all waited for him, until another hour had gone by, and then another. Finally we spotted him, walking dejectedly down the street from the bus stop.
"I'm so sorry," he said. "I was driving through a village and everyone was turning to look at the car, and suddenly these three girls sitting outside a pub waved at me, shouting for me to take them for a spin. I started to wave back and say I couldn't, it wasn't my car, when all of sudden I went into the kerb and bounced off that into one of the arches of a railway bridge. It's made an awful mess of that lovely car..."
I was distraught, inconsolable, but my wife told me it was my own fault. "You should never have let him take it out," she said.
"But the other two took it out and brought it back intact, why not him?", I replied.
"Oh come on," she said. "Everyone knows Tyrone O'Sorras wrecks."
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