One very cold, dark, rainy night,

driving too fast, I skidded on mud down into
a field on this backroad corner that I had forgotton,
in the darkness, was there.

I thought the car was on fire ( it was the powder from
the airbag, which looked like smoke, combined with
the flickering light of a nearby haystack on fire,
left to burn because it was the first night of a firefighter's
strike, scared me). I jumped out the door and caught my foot
on the sill and fell on my head.

When I came to I saw a light a distance away and
staggered along the road to the door of a small house.

A woman opened the door. She had a towel round
her head and was holding a phone to her ear.

She said, "Oh. You're not the Babysitter. She's late."

I said, "No. I've crashed my car. I want to phone the RAC."

She said, " I'm in an ABBA tribute band and we've a
gig on tonight and I'm late. Sit on the sofa with the kids
and the dog until I sort myself out. Then you can use
this phone."

I sat on the sofa with two wee children and a big dog.
They all stared at me for a while. There was a big warm
fire and a television. We watched Casper the friendly ghost.

The woman brought me a cup of tea.

She said, "I've almost sorted everything out.
Just another couple of calls. Can you wait a bit
longer for the phone?"

I said, "That's fine. No bother. I'm not in a hurry."

And it was true.
It was a wild freezing night outside.
I could have been lying out there dead.

And I wasn't.