IF there was ever a true definition of squeaky bum time, it has to be standing by your car with a fuel filler that won’t open, 90 miles showing on the range with over 360 to go to get home – and you don’t speak the local language.
Happily I didn’t have to elicit help from a passing Glaswegian as miraculously, after much cursing and prodding, the recalcitrant flap decided to open and save the day.

















