It's been a funny sort of day.

"It's been a funny sort of day." - Arkwright often used to close his shop thinking that very thought in the voice over as he closed the shop on the much loved classic BBC comedy "Open All Hours." Well it also sums up my day today.

Allow me to explain - if I can.

At work I drive a Volvo V70. These are wonderful cars, very powerful with the T5 engine, or even in D5 diesel form, and I get to drive both. The can carry a huge amount of gear, except of course anything in a cup, as Volvo unlike every other major manufacturer do not fit cup holders. Or an ash tray. Or a cigarette lighter. This is presumably because Volvo drivers are at peace with the world, and do not approve of stimulants like coffee or tobacco to improve their driving performance.

Such is the capriciousness of the Volvo that it can hide an untold quantity of Biro's. Should you inadvertently drop one whilst attempting to, for instance, balance a note pad on the steering wheel whilst temporarily held at a red traffic light, and attempt to write something down, it will almost always without fail fall into the gap between the seat and the centre console. And from there into a black hole, a Volvo designed storage facility which will keep it safe in perpetuity. I would venture so far as to say you will almost certainly never see it again, the likelihood of finding it being inversely proportional to the value of the Biro or pen you dropped. Drop a cheap Biro and you may find it after several minutes searching ion hands and knees and with much movement of the seat fore and aft to shake it from the secret hiding place in which it becomes lodged. Drop a fountain pen which is worth £300 and was passed down to you by your great grandfather and you will never ever see it again.

So when I dropped my Biro under said circumstances I reached down immediately before it had chance to drop into the very bowels of the Volvo. Big Mistake. Remember the monkey with the jar of nuts? Well eventually the monkey dropped the nuts and was able to withdraw his hand from the jar. Or, in the case of one or two more aggressive and/or forward thinking monkeys, they smashed the glass jar. Well ..... even letting go of the Biro did not release the death grip the Volvo suddenly took on my arm. Trapped by my watch strap, unable to take off the handbrake, or change gear i was stuck as the traffic lights changed to green, then amber, then red, and back through a second cycle, with a line of traffic behind growing increasingly impatient with the man in the Volvo failing to drive away. This was Terry and June humour at it's very best. Basil Fawlty would have milked this situation so much he could have started a dairy.

After several panicked minutes of struggle I gave up and managed to select first gear and release the handbrake right handed, then limp into the kerbside. Risking trapping my right hand too, and with fears of having the Volvo cut apart by the fire brigade to release me, I was able to release my watch strap, fortunately on a Velcro quick release, then work the seat back and forth to painfully extract my arm. Reddened both in the arm and the face I was otherwise uninjured. But what a wonderful design fault this is. Perhaps scrap yard owners run a sideline selling secondhand Biro's extracted from Volvo's at end of life, when they eventually and brutally remove the seats to find the stash of pens hidden in the secret storage area beneath.

Later that day, finding myself lacking a packed lunch, which I had accidentally left at home, I headed for ASDA in search of a ready cooked chicken. The man in front in the queue, of Eastern European Extraction, was obviously a very recent migrant, and spoke little if any English. He pointed at the chicken legs, stuck up four fingers, and by the international medium of grunting, was then offered a buy 5 for £2 deal by the equally inarticulate shop assistant. The entire deal was conducted with no spoken word at all. I felt somewhat obliged to try the same approach, but my intended purchase being half a Garlic chicken I floundered somewhat. I mean, half is easy, with a sawing motion, with a sort of parting of hands, chicken is easily accomplished with the flapping motion of elbows, but just what is the international sign language for Garlic? I went with holding my nose then flapping a hand exuberantly in front of my face, but I'm not sure if she thought I'd just farted or what. Charades was never like this. I'm just glad I didn't want a Cumberland sausage.

Like I said, it's been a funny sort of day.