The mechanic swore slightly and gesticulated to the door of our aged Golf - "eet will 'ave to come off, Madame, eef you want to replace ze retroviser (wing mirror) quinze minutes, d'accord."
'Okay', I said, 'I'll walk the dogs'. I would have gone and sat in their - unusually, for a garage - warm waiting room but the dogs were starting to howl, so a walk in freezing drizzle seemed a kinder option for him, and them.
This particular fifteen minutes of my life turned out to be a lot more inspirational than drinking a weird version of hot chocolate from a plastic cup and flipping though Tyre Monthly.
Behind the garage and beyond a sign that read - no admittance, skulked a vast, mostly-derelict building set amongst sweeping tracts of weed-pocked concrete. Beautiful.
Oddly, this very morning I'd been thinking of finding a suitable place to set up and film/photograph a few scenes from my 'Dyst - hopian' (Dystopia with hope) book, Hoxton. Thanks to a stubborn door panel and howling dogs, I think I may have found it . . .
Large building and small runty dog