Louise Limb – contributor
At first it was just a vague feeling that all wasn’t completely well. I mean, I’ve grown accustomed to the regular foibles; to never leaving my keys in the car just in case it decides to lock itself when I’m not looking, or to ensuring, conversely, that nothing prevents the doors from locking, as the slightest piece of paper or fold of waterproof coat slipping over the threshold of the rear door will result in a big fat nothing in response to me earnestly zapping it with my key. I discovered that one after weeks of bafflement at the non compliance of the hardware (the Grand) in refusing to obey the control of the little button on the key fob, and felt a warm glow of achievement when I cleared the base of the door frame of carrier bags and other detritus and it all clicked and clunked, the hazards flashing a friendly, reassuring orange. I could always put the key in the locks and turn them, but why should I? If I wanted that I’d have an old Land Rover and all the bits of old twine that would inevitably accompany its door closing rituals.