It was the early 1960s on a nice summer day when my somewhat flashy boyfriend picked me up from work in his brand new shiny MG sports car. Puffed up and pleased with himself he'd lowered the roof and we made quite a spectacle cruising through the city.
Then we came to Punt Road bridge and were almost over it when the engine stopped and refused to restart. In peak hour traffic with horns blasting and other drivers yelling he sat in the car refusing to get out and push. He kept repeating over and over, 'This just doesn't happen to a brand new car!'
Finally he was persuaded and I moved to the driver's seat and steered while he pushed the car off the bridge and around to the left. Once safely on the grass verge beside the river I looked at the fuel gage – empty.
Turned out the tank had not been completely filled before he took delivery of the vehicle earlier that afternoon. We were simply out of petrol.