October 30

I am driving down the road this morning when I see a very short fuel queue and people being served.  Quickly, I throw out the anchor, turn round and join it.  At the back of mind lurks the fear that there is a catch: it's only diesel, not petrol, they only accept cash, not card or Ecocash, they are only serving the first ten cars, they are only serving customers in red cars with blue dots or people whose names begin with X or Q, unless its followed by a u, in which case they will be turned away.  

I am third from the front and something seems ominously wrong.  Why is everything going so smoothly? I ask the lady in the car ahead what the story is with payment and she shrugs her shoulders and says she is praying that they take bank cards.  I go and ask the petrol attendant who nods in a very non-commital way when I ask if he is taking swipe.  On the way back to my car, various people lean out of their cars and call me over to find out what form of payment is being accepted.  

As I draw up next to the pump, it still seems too good to be true.  I feel like I have made it to the next round of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.  Will I be able to answer the next question?  Please let it be a literature round - Who played Mr Darcy in the 1995 BBC version of Pride and Prejudice?  Yes!  I've got it right.  The meter is going round, it's filling up.  The numbers flash by at an alarming rate.  In the end, I pay for thirteen and a half litres what I used to pay for two full tanks.

And now comes crunch time - payment.  I hand over my card, quite confident that it will be rejected and I will have to leave a body part behind as surety that I will come back.  I quickly look on the back seat of my car and wonder if they will accept a pile of marking.  It's a long shot, but it's worth a try.

God is on my side today, the transaction goes through and I do a metaphorical twirl in the air.  This is what winning feels like.