This is an unpaid guest post from my imaginary 9 year old son.

Dad is away for the weekend so I’m spending it with my grandparents in Kent.

Grandad meets me at the train station and I get in the car. I’m nervous. Dad has had me squeezing lemons all week in preparation for this.
We shake hands. I try to crush Grandad’s hand so hard that he won’t be able to steer properly on our way home.
I fail, but know I’ve improved. He tells me my handshake is still limp. But underneath I can tell he’s proud of my progress.

We’re halfway through the half mile journey when his dashboard tells him he has a puncture. The final quarter of a mile sees our one way conversation about the car’s various sports modes continue seamlessly, albeit now punctuated by a flurry of expletives every time he looks down at the dashboard.

As soon as we pull into the driveway, I jump out and ring the doorbell three times, excited to see Grandma (I have to ring three times because once doesn’t convey any love and twice means I’m an unpaid window cleaner).
Grandad grunts “She’s not home this weekend.”
I turn around and, for a man who claims to have given up golf because of his knees, he has become remarkably supple and is now level with the punctured tyre. He’s insulting a screw with more originality and loathing than a prisoner with a life sentence.
I reply, “Where is she?”
He’s now so close to the tyre that if he stuck his tongue out it would turn black, “Screwed in deep.”
“OMG Grandad! How can she do that to you? And how are you ok with it?”
“I’m not! This is gonna cost me best part of 300 quid”
I’m about to try and save my Grandparents’ marriage when I suddenly realise what Grandma being away means…
Grandad retired at 57 so he could have more time to indulge in his favourite sport. Again, most of us thought that was golf. It’s not.
His favourite pastime is going into takeaways and accusing them that if they deliver to his house it will be cold. And then walking out.
But now Grandma’s not here to reign him in.

My only hope is that the puncture immobilises us. His knees and laziness mean walking into town isn’t a risk.

We go into the house and he rings two of his mates, the Tottenham Hotspur ticket office, Grandma and Kwik Fit (in that order). Highlights:

• The calls to both of his mates start the same: “You’ll never guess what’s happened to my car, I’ve got a-” then he has a mind blank and forgets what he was going to say. But he’s now set himself up with the perfect introduction to explain another feature. The first mate receives an incoherent lecture on why a V6 is better than a V8. And the second is treated to the ‘brag-disguised-as-a-gag’, “The only thing it can’t drive past is a petrol station”. Grandad hangs up before either mate can respond.
• Spurs seem to be the most interested in the puncture. I think because the only thing they haven’t managed to sell him yet from the club shop is a tyre with the Spurs logo on it.
• His opening line to Grandma is “I’ve just spoken to three of my mates and…”. I think he’s said “three” as a mistake, and then I realise he considers the Spurs ticket office a good friend.
• Grandma clearly tells him something he doesn’t like, so for the rest of the weekend she is no longer his wife, but my grandmother.

For the Kwik Fit call, the door is slammed shut so I listen through it, heavily invested in the outcome. I listen through a lot of doors because he’s pacing all around the house. I don’t know when or how it happened, but he’s also managed to change from the free pyjamas you get in first class, to a white vest and M&S Y-fronts combo.
The swearing continues and then I hear the words I feared, “Ok great. So I have about 3.2 miles left on the tyre”. He hangs up before he’s told “No sir, that’s not what I said”.
As he emerges from the downstairs toilet, he’s performed another Clark Kent transformation and is back as a British Airways Gold Club member. The only thing he has in common with Superman is that they can both fly.

The (superior) V6 engine is still warm as we get back in the car and head to the kebab shop.
On the way, the various competitors to the car he bought are explained to me.
If the other car is cheaper than his, then he didn’t even consider buying it (even though I was with him for most of the test drives).
If the car is more expensive, then Clarkson gave it a poor review on Top Gear (even though all of the cars were released after Clarkson left Top Gear).

We arrive at the kebab shop. I’m told to simultaneously stay in the car to watch for traffic wardens and to come inside to learn how he “operates”. It wasn’t a choice but I pick the latter.
I’m two metres behind him, but by the time I get into the shop he’s already let off his first shot.

Grandad, aggressively but thinks he’s only at assertive, “If I order delivery it’ll be cold won’t it?” (That question mark is as close to an exclamation mark as there’s ever been).
It’s 11am so there’s only one guy working. He’s the youngest guy and is competent but doesn’t speak much English.
He silently furrows his brow and stares at Grandad.
Grandad repeats himself several times, changing his pace and hand gestures, but never his tone or words. He also starts walking around the shop and touching stuff, mainly menus and ketchup bottles (to see how full they are). He occasionally sits on a stool but only for a second or two.
Despite not being overly confident with English, the guy thinks Grandad has just accused the shop of delivering undelivered cold kebabs. But the guy knows that can’t be what Grandad said because it doesn’t make any sense. He scrambles through his English phrasebook in vain.

Several recitations later and Grandad escalates. He throws his hands up and demands, “Where’s the bossman?”
As if he’s just been summoned by a “Hey Google” or a “Siri”, the bossman appears.
The young guy glares at the bossman as if to say “Do you want me to deal with this situation?”.
The bossman tilts his head and fans his hands to calm down his employee, who now has a kebab skewer in each hand. He adds “It’s ok. I know him.” He doesn’t know him.
Grandad laps up this supposed familiarity and also claims to remember him. He throws his keys on the counter and then leans one elbow on it (uncomfortably because it’s a bit high for him).
Getting his tongue in a muddle, like when you say the same word over and over again, Grandad says, “If I order delivery it’ll be cold won’t it?”
Bossman, very calm, “Where do you live?”
“Bearsted.”
There’s four of us in the room: Grandad, the young guy, the bossman and me. We all narrow our eyes, and for 20 seconds we exchange glances with each other, switching the person we’re looking at every 3 seconds. Because even I, a 9 year old, know Bearsted is only 1.6 miles away. A 7 minute drive.
The bossman humours Grandad, “No problem. We have three drivers.”
After all we’ve been through, this seems to be enough and Grandad is appeased, “Hmm. Not sure…” (this means he’s appeased).

Next point of order: how to order delivery. Before we went in the shop it was only me and Grandad that knew, but now all four of us know – Grandad will never order a delivery.
Grandad, “So how does it work?”
Bossman picks up a menu, which 10 minutes ago was pristine but now is heavily fingered and has ketchup on it, “Ring this number.”
Grandad grabs another, unsoiled, menu. The bossman winces.
Grandad points at the telephone number, which is in size 40 font, and barks like a detective pressing for a confession, “THIS NUMBER?! THIS NUMBER?!”.
The bossman nods.
Grandad slaps the menu on the counter, “Right. Nice one! Gotta run now, few bits to do”, and then, like he forgot he went in to warn them a nuclear apocalypse was coming, “Oh! I got a puncture earlier! A screw! Big jobby it was. Watch out, they’re all over the roads.” He also scoffs and says “Yeah!” every few words, as if the bossman is constantly saying “No way! Really??”.

We get back in the car and drive the 1.6 miles home.
Grandad’s running out of things to tell me about the car. So he’s just repeatedly pressing the buttons to put the back windows up and down and expecting me to be impressed, even though every car he’s had since I was born has been able to do that. It’s the middle of winter. It’s freezing cold. I should have complained before he got the car.