:: nothing's ever that simple

When I bought a shiny, nearly-new Ford to replace my ageing, clapped-out Peugeot, I was savvy enough to ask for a service record. There wasn't one, but the salesman said it should have had a service, and promised to track down the record for me. This is where my savvy came undone. I believed him! I know! A used car salesman!

Six months on I still haven't got the record. Not only that - it transpires I haven't got the service record because there isn't one: the car has never been serviced. So now I'm waiting for the Ford service centre to phone to arrange for a service - no doubt at a time of maximum inconvenience.

Mind you, any time until after New Year would be a time of maximum inconvenience. Unless they give me a courtesy car - some friends with an Audi have a brand-new one to tool around in while their airconditioning leak is sorted out. I'm not used to these little luxuries: with my old car I would drop it at the local garage on my way home from work and pick it up on my way to work the next day. But the Ford service place is out in industrial estate country, near the bypass.

I'm starting to feel like that League of Gentlemen character: "Are you local?" I've abandoned my fancy-pants city hairdresser for the local salon. And it's so liberating! I popped in (popping in is such a "local" thing to do, isn't it?) yesterday and made an appointment for today. Left home two minutes before the appointment and arrived bang on time. Half an hour later I was home with glossy, neatly trimmed hair, for a fraction of the price. My previous hairdresser was originally "local", in that his salon was just up the road from my old flat. But then high rents drove them out to a bustling suburb, and news of his excellence meant he got busier and more expensive, while I moved out here. I'd have to book weeks in advance, then drive in (it was either that or two buses), spend ages looking for a park, pay a small fortune and drive home (half an hour each way). Local is the way to go.