Climactic

"Have just heard ad for something called climactic air conditioning for cars. Can it be true?" I text Vicky.

"Suspect word is climatic. But if climactic, get me one," she texts back. "Especially if you get to choose the voice."

"If climactic, could sound like Edward Heath and you wouldn't care."

Later, I'm driving along just imagining how much a good, muscular climactic air conditioning system would bring to the dullest school run - 'Hot, oh, God, hot. No - hotter, hotter, hotter. More. More.....' when I come across a car that appears to have been driven at great speed up a lampost and now rests with its rear wheels on the ground, entire front end elevated and resting on the lampost, like an affectionate pet. The lamp itself is turned towards the car, as though making a tender enquiry about its well-being.

The car looks expensive. Its driver, a man resting his arms on the steering wheel, is staring straight ahead. There is no sign of any other car, urban fox or cat that might have caused the accident. It's as if, maddened by something the lampost said, he has simply done his best to run it down.

"Do you need help?" I ask, winding down the window.

"I'm fine," he says, not looking round. "Can't say the same about the car, unfortunately."

"Oh, well. It happens," I answer, with the first platitude that comes into my head. It makes him turn and look at me for a second, with evident incredulity. It is obvious that not only have I never seen a car up a lamppost before, but nor has anyone else, judging by the small crowd of pointing, happy onlookers that's rapidly gathering to film the event and post it on social websites round the world.

"Just saw car up lamppost," I tell Vicky, when I get home.

"Probably just road testing his climactic air conditioning," says Vicky. "Maybe not such a good buy after all."