Much as I liked the fashionable dustbin bag taped into place to keep the rain out, it felt a bit pointless doing things like, you know, locking the car doors. Very much a workaround rather than a bug fix. Jokes about “security holes” welcome… anyway, proper fix required.
Naturally, coming from a family steeped in the scrap metal and car-breaking business, I know nothing about cars except how to drive them. (One of these days I’ll learn how to park them.)
Luckily my Dad does. He found a replacement window for a fiver, and we spent this morning fitting it. (OK, he did most of the work. I hoovered up glass, held things that needed holding, and got in the way.) You have to strip the door right down, bits everywhere. The hardest parts were probably getting the window handle off and divining the correct angle of approach to insert the new window. Still, all better now. You can’t tell the difference, unless you look closely and spot someone else’s number plate etched on it.
Fascinating fact of the day: no matter how much you hoover, there’s always more glass left.
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