I suppose I should have suspected something when we saw a large lorry unloading bags of aggregate at selected points in the Crown Inn's car park, as we parked the car after a couple of hours sightseeing in a nearby market town.
The knock on our bedroom door came just as I was preparing for a quick shower and enjoying a gin and tonic.
Partially opening the door and peeping out, not wishing to frighten anyone by the sight of a partially clad fellow, who had many reasons not to be entirely enamoured by his physique, I saw the face of a worried young member of staff, who said, "Sorry to bother you sir, but as the men are beginning to spread the new aggregate on the car park, you might wish to move your car".
I thanked him and hurriedly dressed, in the clothes that only a few minutes before I had removed and shot downstairs.
The sight reminded me of a story told by 'Blaster Bates', an explosives expert, who, after blowing up a cesspit for a local farmer, noted that, as the wind caught the contents of the pit it had caused the local pub to change colour, his story was entitled 'A shower of -hit over Cheshire'. Anyway, this was a similar sort of situation, although fortunately it was only the dust from limestone aggregate and nothing more repugnant that covered our pristine car, but it was enough to fill any self-respecting Morgan driver with some horror as its colour had changed from 'Le Mans Green' to a pale grey! It looked as if it had been standing in Pompeii as Vesuvius erupted.
I tried to adopt a cavalier approach and casually parked the car in the road opposite our bedroom window and secretly hoped that there would be an immediate and torrential downpour to wash the blessed stuff off.
You know how it is. Every time I looked out of the window there was that dirty little Morgan, dirt that had not been gained from some fine sporting trial, but from the simple act of men spreading aggregate on a car park! It was annoying and anyone driving an ordinary car would probably have put up with it, but when you are a somewhat neurotic Morgan owner, something had to be done.
My wife tried to calm my anxious state by suggesting that, as it was getting busy in the pub, the matter should be dealt with in the morning.
Having spent a rather unsettled night, I approached the owner of the establishment to ask if I could borrow a bucket of water. Thankfully, not only did he immediately respond to this request but suggested that a hose might be more appropriate and I readily agreed.
In half an hour our lovely car was returned to showroom condition and I was a truly happy man!