It took us hours to walk back, and most of the afternoon was gone before we got back to the car with the oil. Knowing absolutely nothing about how far the oil tank should be filled up, we really went for it, and filled it until it spilled over. Very proud of ourselves we got back into the car, and it started after a while, and off we went, but luck would not play along, and we did not even get around the circle, when black smoke started billowing out at the back again! Liz put on the brakes with gusto, and we screeched to a halt, both of us quite jittery by now, as the cars behind us did not think it funny the way Lizzy came to a dead halt in front of them, and they let us know how they felt by hooting, and giving some strange finger signs!
I told Liz that I would try and push the car off the road, and of course my muscles were not strong enough, and I was desperately working away, getting only ugly looks and some more hooting, but there are still some gentlemen on earth, as again a young guy stopped and gave me a hand. Strange that the older oompies(old men), never stop to give a person that is obviously in distress a hand, and they are also the ones that let rip with the hooters! never try and tell me that the youth is bad!
Lizzy then decided to phone her son who lived in Glasgow and ask for help, as we just did not know what to do. He told her to stay put, and that he would come as soon as possible, and would then decide what to do.
The sun had long gone to sleep when at last he arrived. Alan, as her son is called, is like his mother a wonderful dresser, with suit and tie of the best cloth, and black leather shoes that could be used for a mirror! He had a look at the engin, and looked worried, then decided to phone an emergency truck to come and get the car. As he was on his way to some or other seminar, he could not take us back to Strathyre, so he waited until the towing truck came, and asked the guy to take us back home before taking the car to the garage.
Why I am always the one to pull the shortest stick I could thus far not work out, but true to bad luck a la Christine, the guy looked us over and decided that as there was only one passenger seat, I could sit on the box in the middle. What was hidden below this box I did not know, but the thing was about two feet higher that the seats, and my head kept bumping on the roof, and this roof was bally hard, and I felt like a silly bird sitting on a perch, and to top it all, I had nowhere to cling to, and kept sliding off! And one thing this tow truck driver did was driving like he had ten bally devils behind him. When we got to the tight bends between Callender and Strathyre, and after I had landed on his lap about ten times, and almost flattened poor Liz, he told me to clutch at his shoulder to keep me on my perch, so I rolled the old eyes a bit, and clutched! I did and felt a lot  more comfy, as I could at least keep to my seat!
The Inn was busy, with people sitting outside, and all the drinkers sitting outside had a good look at us driving into the town, and the next day a few saucy remarks were made about me clutching the poor driver!