Queen of the Pumps

 

This sober bitch is getting very pissy with life at the moment.

 

Its April, its fucking freezing and Rob is on a Money supermarket dot com mission to save as much gas as we can by not heating the house, not running hot water and saving as much petrol as we can by walking the fuck everywhere. His idea of effectively heating the bedroom is farting uncontrollably in the bed and comfortably bedding down into a duvet cocooned sleep position like a fat fucking blue bottle on a cow pat…. I am not impressed.

 

Don’t get me wrong, I do love a bit of Martin Lewis in the morning and his saucy tips on effective pump action just as much as the next menopausal woman but fuck me I am freezing.

 

Robs been stockpiling gas, frantically taking notes of every fucking meter we own, tutting away, re recording the slightly moved meter numbers and searching around the surrounding fields looking for a suspected marijuana plantation that could potentially be dipping into our isolated energy source. 

 

‘Right’ he announces, ‘this weekend I am planning a family trip to the petrol station’.  ‘Are you fucking serious? I exclaim……’ sounding very like a female John McEnroe.

 

‘Let me get this right, our fun family outing this weekend is to be a trip to the fucking petrol station to fill up to the brim our rather combine harvester…esk cars, before the prices rise’.  

 

Yes, That how us Jones’s roll kids…….’  Oh god, kill me now! 

Now as far as feelings of excitement go about the pending pump party with my husband, without the anesthetising drips of wine dregs in my blood stream, its going to be as much fun as setting my underwear on fire.

 

Our local petrol station have a cunning plan, they entice you onto the forecourt with the cheapest of petrol prices for a country mile and then BAM they melt your credit card with exaggerated pricing of everything else they sell inside, exactly the same theory as the pick and mix counter at the Cinema.  Quite the genius marketing to be fair, 1 pound for fuel and £700 for a loaf of bread, thank you!

 

So the weekend arrives and the excitement is brewing, we jump into Robs car so we can jointly drive the 500 yard distance from our house to the forecourt. Like everything Rob and I do together, its always a bloody song and a dance and even getting fuel becomes a palaver.

 

Rob positions the car precisely so his fuel cap is directly in line with the pump nozzle, rob gets out, puts the nozzle in and smoothly clicks the handle into position, the pump kicks in, he slides me a winning grin and out dribbles approximately 5 pence of petrol before shutting down and turning off, just enough petrol to get us approximately 2ft further ahead of our parked position on our exciting day trip.

 

The petrol cashier is knee deep in her take a break crossword and completely ignores his plight as he starts to rather frustratedly clickety click away with the pump, faster and faster clicking away like an overzealous air stewardess counting the passengers onto an Easy Jet flight to Benidorm.

 

By now I am inside the garage, taken out a small loan, ordered a cake and a costa and have front row seats watching the Queen of the Pumps, throw directional wanking hand movement prompts to Rob from the safety of her seated position inside the pump kiosk refusing to acknowledge the fact that her pumps are fucked.  Getting louder and louder, she is shouting wildly at him to reposition, hold it tightly, to slam it hard and now re aim. I am giggling away like a naughty school girl, finding the entire situation a blast a second. Rob however is not amused, and with his big finale, he slams the pump back into its holder and joins me for a well-earned break inside the sweat box of a costa.

 

‘I’ve got you a brownie’,  I say, as I slide the solid lump of black mess towards him.  He picks up the weighty brownie, ‘Do you want me to eat it or fucking stop a runaway bus with it’,  he says wryly and we both piss ourselves laughing at the most ridiculous 30 minutes of our life.

 

We stand up and are almost out of the door when the Queen of the Pumps shouts ‘Er excuse me love, you still owe me £1.10 for petrol?????’

 

I am howling and with that we set back on the 1 minute journey back home!

 

This Blog has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with giving up booze but fucking funny to me and this episode should be sponsored by tena lady!

 

Over and out

 

Sue xxx