Kevin Page: Dodgy car heating sparks stripped-down chain of events

Dodgy car airconditioning almost had columnist Kevin Page caught short - and in the middle of a hot streak too.

In the world of regular employment I inhabit at present, I am apparently on something called a "hot streak".

Now, without sounding like God's gift to business, which I am most definitely not, this is something of a surprise. I'm really just doing what I've always done. Talk to people.
I enjoy it that way. People are interesting. Everyone has a story. Even if they don't know it. And I enjoy listening to them.

If I'm perfectly honest I probably do as much talking as I do listening – my boss says I could talk the leg off a chair – and quite a few times I've left an appointment without actually asking if they would be interested in our particular service and presumably them wondering what on earth I was doing there in the first place.

Luckily, my employers are not interested in any hard-sell approach and are content to let me loose on the unsuspecting public just as I am. If we get a few jobs out of it later on then it's all good. And as I say, at the moment we are.

And that's how I found myself way, way down country this week filling in for a fellow employee who is away.

When my boss floated the idea of me taking my particular skill set south to help out for a few days, I thought why not. Be good to see a bit of the countryside. Meet some new people. Have a chat. Find some new chairs to remove a leg from.

So, before I know it, I'm there. Freezing on a, well, freezing cold day and I can't start the company vehicle I've been given.

Long story short, it's had a meltdown – though I'm thinking it more likely froze to death – and I've been given a loan car for the day from the mechanic.

As I drove off into the outback, the best part of an hour late for my first appointment, his parting words to me were: "You should be okay. It goes well but the heater is a bit temperamental".

I didn't have time to discuss it to be honest, and switched the control to full heat and set off into the rural backblocks.

Ten minutes into the trip I'm starting to thaw out and feeling quite comfortable and toasty. The thermal singlet I bought with me just in case has definitely helped warm me up.

Ten minutes after that I'm getting a little too hot. But now there's a problem.

The car's heater is not so much temperamental as advised, but completely knackered. It's stuck in the full-on heat position and no amount of persuasion from me, gentle or otherwise, is going to move the controls or make it stop.

So, I decide I'm going to have to wind the windows down.

But it starts to rain. And it's that freezing rain with little bits of ice in it. Naturally, the windows have to come back up.

With sweat now emerging on my forehead and running down my back I decide drastic action is required. I pull over in the middle of nowhere by a farm gate, and hop out to consider my options. It took me all of two seconds to realise I'm somewhat limited in that regard.

I've got a full day's driving ahead of me, four clients to visit, and I'm going to be sitting in an oven with no way to turn the heat down. The only thing I can do is take off a couple of layers of clothing and put them back on just before I get to my appointments.

At least that way when I get there I won't look like an overcooked, dehydrated potato.

The decision made, I remove my long trousers, jacket and business shirt and re-enter the furnace in my singlet and my boxers, which basically look like a pair of shorts, albeit adorned with cute teddy bears courtesy of Mrs P and her mate Santa.

It's still like driving in a blast furnace but significantly more comfortable than before I disrobed.

Thankfully, I've a bag with me with a bit of lunch and plenty of water so I'm regularly gulping vast quantities in a bid to stay hydrated.
Anyway.

I have to say the plan works well for each appointment. I stop down the road, hop out and get dressed then repeat the process in reverse on my departure.

Just before my last appointment, my foot gets stuck in my trouser leg and I'm hopping along the side of the car trying to regain my balance as another vehicle cruises by.

Typical isn't it? I've seen barely two cars way out here all day and, in what I presume is the rural rush hour, traffic literally catches me with my pants down.

But I digress. I gulp down yet more water. Get to my appointment, dress and undress and finally head off back from where I came.

Unfortunately, the water I've taken on board is finally asking to come out so a pit stop is required. Rather quickly if the truth be known.

Now I don't know whether I was delirious or what. Perhaps the heat had got to me? I don't know. But I came round a corner, miles from anywhere and there, like an oasis amid the desert, was one of those little centre-of-the-community service stations.

Luckily, there was no one around so I thought I'd skip the (re) dressing for the occasion part and just whip into the loo on the side of the building.

And naturally, because this is the way these things happen, every farmer and his dog for miles around descended on the forecourt for gas and a chat the second I closed the door.

The silence from the assembled throng, when I emerged sheepishly from the toilet a few minutes later was, as they say, deafening.

The only saving grace was I wasn't in a company-branded vehicle.

But it was most definitely not the "hot streak" I was hoping for on my trip to the deep south.