Copyright newsletter
It seems quaint now, but the habit was to pull the vehicle beside the pump in the forecourt and wait for the member of staff to come out of the shop. There were occasions when this did not happen quickly and grumpy attendants who seemed to delight in letting you sit there. While I'm just about old enough to remember when the choice was between two and four star petrol, by the time I was on the road it was mostly unleaded. If you took the family car, the expectation was that you would leave it back with petrol in the tank. The usual request from me was to 'put in a fiver', although I do have memories of asking for £3 or even £2. Spending £10 was reserved for rare longer trips. It was only when I ventured beyond Ballycastle towards the exotic delights of Ballymoney and Coleraine that I encountered larger garages where you had to put in your own fuel. You paid for the transaction with the cash in your pocket, which for a teenage driver, was usually not much. If I put in a fiver of petrol, that often meant I only had a fiver and not a penny more. There was no debit or credit card as a backup. One of the quirks was always trying to ensure that you had a steady enough finger to release pressure on the handle at exactly the right moment when the correct amount of fuel had been inserted. If you were clumsy and the total at the pump spilled over to £5.01 or £5.02, generally the attendant would turn a blind eye and charge you the round figure. However, I do remember occasionally having to search for coppers in the depths of my pockets and once having to promise a excessively severe attendant that I would bring in the outstanding 4p the next time I visited. These memories are coming back to me now because I am on the road to Dublin for a work trip. The petrol tank is half full and I'd like to top it up before I cross the border. However, the bank balance has taken a battering this month and we're not quite at pay day yet. Moreover, I don't want to use the credit card as that debt is already expanding faster and with more menace than a black hole. Fortunately, I have £25 in my wallet, left over from a restaurant visit for which I took out cash to assist with splitting the bill. It's just about the right amount of top up needed to make sure I've enough fuel for my trip. But I've hit an unexpected snag. I can't remember the last time I paid for fuel using cash. The first three garages I visit have signs at the pumps stating card payment only. I begin to worry that a note will be sent to police about the strange behaviour of a driver who is going around multiple petrol stations in Co Down, but not buying fuel. Eventually, I find an outlet which offers the choice of cash or card payment. I really don’t want to use my card. I have £25. I want to put in exactly that amount. I haven't done it this way in years. I begin putting in the petrol. I let it flow with abandon until the total reaches £24, then I release the pressure on the handle just a little and the running total begins to slow. £24.34. My finger has control of the situation. £24.49. It makes me feel like a young man once more. £24.68. An era when I had just passed my test and the world was full of promise and potential. £24.79. I am the master of the pump...£24.83...£24.86...£24.89...I start to become a little impatient...just a tiny bit more pressure on the handle and I can speed this up...£25.18. I concede that youth cannot be so easily recaptured and fish the credit card from my wallet. It is the following morning and I am still in Dublin. I never do well away from family and am impatient to get home. I drive my car out of the hotel car park before I notice the abundance of gardai on the streets. I drive slowly to a junction, but the road which takes me north is closed. I try another route but it is also sealed off. I seek help from my satnav but, unusually, it has no ideas at all on how I can get out of Dublin. It is only at this point that I notice the sign advising that today is the Dublin Marathon. Most major roads in the city will be closed for hours. This revelation is not beneficial to my general mental health. There seems to be three small roads open close to where I am. Unfortunately, they form a triangle and I spend close to an hour driving around its three sides and always ending up back at the same spot. I need to do something different. I turn right at the end of the narrow street, rather than the left I have taken on the previous 12 occasions. I'm not entirely sure I'm allowed to, but I have to try something. I find myself on a wide thoroughfare which would usually be thronged with traffic. Mine is the only vehicle on this road today. It is quite eerie, like a scene from a disaster movie where the whole population of the planet has been wiped out by a mystery virus, except for me. I notice now that there are people in uniform waving their arms at me. I suspect their gestures are not intended as a welcome. I have a terrible vision that, rather than reporting the news, I will be making it tonight. I park the car and go to get a coffee. My homecoming will have to wait.
