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On several occasions, I found myself tragically dispatched due to his nonsense. Chief among these follies was his incessant jiggling of the motorcar — shaking it to and fro like some overexcited terrier. As a result, entering the vehicle became a feat fit for Hercules himself.
Try as I might, the door would shift, the car would buck, and I’d be left scrambling at the threshold, entirely helpless. A simple boarding turned into a humiliating ballet of missed timing and bruised dignity. Quite the absurd way to go, really — but dreadfully British, in its own way.