Dunt.

It was a trying day. Mrs. TD needed a taxi service to and from a quilt show where she was helping to (wo)man a stall for Project Linus, a procedure that takes quite a chunk out of my day. So there I was, sat in the car in the car park phoning Herself to let her know that I was waiting; when I happened to glance up, there was this bloody great Mercedes people carrier reversing sedately towards me. I managed to hit the horn just after the impact. The wifie was most apologetic and also concerned that her husband would kill her when she arrived home. Like most new cars, it was fitted with proximity sensors on the back which she didn’t hear, but then she didn’t look in her mirrors either - or notice me when she climbed into her car.
 

To add insult to injury, later, I had to spend an hour on the phone reporting the incident: first to the insurance broker, and then again to the insurer. If I was going to have to pay for the repair myself, I would have just filed off the sharp edges and covered the damage with gaffer tape. Although it’s a newish, smartish, low mileage car; we tend to drive ours all the way to the scrapyard, so resale price is academic and we’re not too fussy about appearances. Our cars tend to get washed every year as a courtesy gesture by the garage that does the MOT, though I must admit to having done so yesterday since it was parked on the lea side of a high tide the other day and salt is rather corrosive.