My trusty motorcar decided to have a sulk yesterday. I finished breakfast, locked up the house, and walked down to the car to go to work. It wouldn't let me in. The door was jammed solid. I cursed, I begged, I pulled the handle in a frantic tantrum. No, the car isn't talking to me. Can't get in the other side either, the cockpit is too cramped. So I call the breakdown people. They were very sympathetic and promised someone would turn up in an hour. He nearly made it too, despite a bad car crash elsewhere on the Great Western Way and the resulting gridlocked traffic. Needless to say, after some fettling from a gentleman far more skilled in talking to cars than me, the door opened.

UT strode into the yard as soon as I showed up.

"Come on Alfie!" He shouts. Alfie? Since when was I called Alfie? Never mind, there's no point arguing. I wonder what he wants?

"Oi needs to get moi my van in, Alfie. 'As you got a key? You do don' you? Goes and get the key an' lets moi van in." UT as usual has such an air of command. He disappears through the premises of a neighbouring business to fetch his van.

My mobile phone rings. Security has another van at the front gate with two parcels for us. I ask him to send the man round, but the old gent tells me the outer front gate is locked. Aw poo. Right then, I'll dump my bag in the office and its back through the Hangar to fetch the parcels. I open the Shed, and... What the **** is this? Somebody has deposited a large metal roadside map to an industrial estate! Well first things first...

As I stride back across the front yard to the gatehouse the van is pulling away. With my parcels on it. Yes, he's going round the back with Mr Security to open the gates as he goes. A quick jog down the lane and I hitch a ride in the back of the parcel van. I forgot how bumpy this old back lane was, pot-holed concrete and eroded gravel. You will not believe how painful the corners of cardboard boxes can be when you're bouncing around in the back of a van. Anyway, nursing a few bruises, I manage to indicate where to drop the boxes. He's a pleasant character this driver.

"Hope you didn't you get jolted around back there" He says in concern at my flustered face. Parcels duly delivered, he goes, and I turn to UT, newly arrived in his trusty flatbed. He looks at the metal roadside map. He looks at me.

"Somebody must 'ave nicked this the uvver noight. Better run, Alfie.."

I really have no idea if he's serious.... After some genuine heaving the map goes on the flatbed, followed by bits of metal tube. Isn't that the front gate barrier?

"Somebody must banged into it last noight, Alfie. Made a roight mess of it they did...."

AD arrives after a visit elsewhere. He greets UT in his usual disparaging manner, and the two senior citizens then proceed to have a mock fight. As usual, UT's superior strength and aggression win the day, and I console my boss over his defeat.

Sulk of the Week No, not my car, but SB, who is starting to feel the pressure of the impending move and whose patience is very fragile. He 's been very comfortable in that darkened Hangar for many years, and really, having to deal with the outside world for the first time in a decade, its all proving a bit of a shock for him. Poor man. I'd help him but our relationship consists solely of glaring angrily at each other when we walk past. Has anyone got a home for a warehouseman? Well trained, barks at strangers, doesn't need much exercise, and would make a perfect pet for someone with the time and patience to provide a good home. Remember, a warehouseman is not just for christmas...