Jolly bad luck

I consider myself to be a strawberry blonde (I am not ginger!) both physically and metaphorically - in that the blonde streaks in my hair aren't natural and my blonde moments are thankfully outweighed by non-blonde moments. Today however is a very blonde day and I am currently thawing myself out after two hours stranded in Halfords' carpark, having locked my keys in my own car.

There they sat on the passenger seat next to my handbag, rather fetching Cath Kidston purse and my life (read - rather sadly - my blackberry). And there I stood - in the snow, clutching the bottle of oil that I was, very smugly, about to fill up my car with.

A very kind man from Halfords tried to jump to my rescue and spent a good hour in the freezing weather trying to break into my car using every trick he'd picked up during his mis-spent youth. VW security however has come on in leaps and bounds since the good old days and I have to say that had I not been fretting about the fact that I should never get into my car again I would probably be rather impressed with it's fortress like nature.

Talk turned to the smashing of windows. Mr Jones, currently on business in Wales, couldn't be contacted despite my many messages, and I began to kick myself at the lack of spare keys. Then I remembered the AA - I gave them a call and within half an hour my knight in shining fluro jacket arrived. He had my keys out in a jiffy and my car unlocked in seconds. He was indeed a very nice man, a very, very nice man.

The moral of this story? If you have a boy, why go to Halfords to get oil for the car yourself? Send the boy who is surely too clever to lock himself out of the car.