There I was, sitting in my boss' Bentley - yes another Bentley, when the back end suddenly reared up to the accompaniment of a sound like an elephant being eviscerated.
'What have you done?' he demands with only slightly less volume than that of the awful crunching sound now emanating from the rear. No way was I going to take the blame for this after that unfortunate incident with the Ferrari last week, so I held up the ignition key, which I hadn't even put into the ignition yet and almost shoved it up his nose. Yes I know you don't need a key to start a Bentley, but if you don't have the A Key one must go through all that tedious business of inserting one to start the engine.
So I jumped out of the car to find a three hour old Porsche Cayenne driven by his niece, surgically grafted to the back.
'What have you done?' She screeched
'Me?' By that time even I was beginning to sound like a Bee Gee.
Apparently stoning your boss' niece to death is considered bad form but for the rest of the journey I could actually feel his murderous glances at me. Perhaps I should have offered to take the blame. No chance. whatever street cred' I still posses is not going out of those double glazed windows almost as quickly as the final dregs of my career.