Emergency services

"I was just keeping the kids occupied by teaching them to belch the alphabet," says Bad Lindy. "So what's the problem?"

"The fact that you opened your car door without looking and someone drove straight into it," says Vicky, acidly.

"How was I to know there'd be some stupid car passing just as I opened the door?"

"Being parked on a road outside a school at three pm might have given you a clue," says Vicky. "What were you expecting - a convoy of marshmallows?"

As a result of the crash, Bad Lindy's car is in for extensive repairs and she has appeared on Vicky's doorstep, demanding a lift to the supermarket.

"And those texts have got to stop," says Vicky, as they drive off.

"I just can't see why you've got a problem. He's gorgeous."

"You've obviously seen more of him than I have," says Vicky. She sniffs. "Can you smell burning?" she asks.

"Not unless it's my loins. They're definitely on fire," says Bad Lindy.

They've just finished the shopping when there's an announcement. "Oh God," says Vicky. "I'm sure that's my car registration they've just read out."

She dashes outside, trailing carrier bags, to find smoke pluming from her car engine and a small crowd of sweet little old ladies who are enjoying every moment. "Take your shopping for you, love," says the sweetest and oldest-looking.

Lindy, who has been burping the harder polysyllablic letters - 'W' is always tricky -pauses mid-belch and ambles over. "Shall I call 999?" she asks and dials. There's a pause.

"Which service? Ooh - I'd like some firemen, a couple of policemen and maybe a paramedic or two - but only if they're nice-looking, of course."

"It's the emergency services, not a pizza order," says Vicky, irritably, as she attempts to smother the flames with her top-notch emergency fire-fighting kit which consists of the child's plastic raincoat, half-finished tube of Smarties and empty crisp packet she found under the passenger seat.

Twenty minutes later, everything is under control and the policeman who came to ask Vicky a few questions about her car maintenance policy has been side-tracked by Bad Lindy, who never misses the opportunity to come up against the full might of the law.

"Where's my shopping?" says Vicky, suddenly. In the distance, the kind little old lady who offered to take her bags is tottering up the steps into a bus, still smiling benignly and almost crushed by the weight of a week's worth of Vicky's Chablis.

"Arrest the old bag, officer," says Bad Lindy, pointing. "She's just nicked all the shopping. Then why not come back? I've got some great regulations we could infringe together."

"For God's sake, Lindy," says Vicky. "Haven't you had enough?"

Bad Lindy considers. "Nope," she says. "I'll order a minicab, shall I?"

Vicky gives up. "I'm going to have to wait here for the pick-up truck."

"Oil, grease and overalls," says Bad Lindy, thoughtfully. "D'you know, I think I'll wait here with you. We can pass the time by belching a few phone numbers. Let's start with '999'."