Final load of knick-nacks going up the M6 at 3.30pm on a Tuesday. Cruising at 50km/h. Bob Marley on stereo, sitting at respectful distance behind furniture lorry.
Information filters into awareness: Temperature warning light flashing. Needle jumping wildly. Ignore information for a while due to faulty logic (previous owner said he had problems with the thermostat and disconnected it). Then... brain begins working and concern kicks in. It's never lit up before, much less jumped about. Perhaps this is a situation requiring some sort of attention. Pull over on hard shoulder. Get out. Check for smoke. Engine sounds healthy, no signs of distress. Proceed to next service station a mere half mile up the motorway. Park up. Check coolant top-up tank. Empty. Ohhhh shit.
Panic lasts approximately 40 seconds.
Back to cab, pull out owner's manual. Flick to correct page, already bookmarked by previous owner. Ummm, what to do? Top up coolant tank. Run engine. Pray a little bit. Get down on knees and peer under Pandora for signs of leakage from coolant pipes, engine pan... Nothing. Notice lorry drivers watching young woman on hands and knees in miniskirt peering under bright cyan T25 in M6 Northbound service station car park. Feel provocative.
Get back in cab. Wait. Worry.
Check top up tank. No change in coolant level. Get back in cab.
Needle goes down, light goes out. Cautious lifting of spirits. Engine sounding healthy. Proceed to next service station. Repeat.
Finally arrive home 4 hours later. (not the 2 achieved pre-dramatics.)
Now Pandora is standing outside the house, awaiting a radiator bleeding and antifreeze topping-up session.
Guilt. If only I'd remembered to check the coolant levels!
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