Even Godfathers Need Their Renaults

Very very quiet – deja-vu. Over to D’s to deliver K’s birthday present; he has the ‘flu.
Took L’s car this morning for it’s post-delivery check-up, while waiting a gentleman came in dressed in mafia-stylee fancy dress, complete with immaculate and extravagant facial hair, a full-on sicilian accent and an off-the-shoulder camel hair coat (somewhat like “Boycey” from “Only Fools and Horses” except with the accent). He proceeded to launch into a full raised-voice argument which ran for a good twenty minutes, his beef was that the garage’s tariff was higher than another garage, a fact which he had found out after haviung the work done on his car and ordering parts – the nub of his complaint was that the garage was holding him to ransom as they wouldn’t let him take his car until he paid for what they had done and what he’d ordered. As the queue to the reception area grew larger – eventually going out into the forecourt and holding the electronic doors open on a freezing morning, mutterings grew. Our man eventually caved in and paid, then huffily went out to the forecourt where he stood puffing on a fag until – get this – his butler? assistant? driver? who had waited outside all this time – collected the car and drove round to him.
Hilarious! And all before 9am!

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