When school broke up for Easter two weeks ago I did not anticipate a close encounter with a deer the day before we were due to travel to my Favourite Daughter’s (FD) wedding venue. My Mini did not fare well in this interchange.

I know you will be concerned to hear this news, so let me immediately reassure you that the deer (although she was definitely to blame) did not suffer a knock out blow but instead ran back into the deer park from which she had so audaciously escaped. I was also unharmed (thank you for asking). I did what I always do in a time of crisis and resorted to total denial for nothing was going to get in the way of this MOB getting to her daughter’s nuptials. The incident happened in the dark – my dashboard told me I could continue driving until I could park safely – and so naturally I continued on to work as any sane working woman would. Admittedly I failed to notice that the front of my car would refuse to limp me home later that day. As always, I was operating on a need to know basis and did not want to know about anything that could hinder my MOB plans.

As Mother of the Bride I had given myself one mission that week and that was to ensure that FD remained untroubled. This deer incident was hugely inconvenient but I reminded myself – out of pure vanity – that I had no bruising to conflict with my gorgeous MOB fascinator and that thankfully Himself was driving us to the wedding in his car. FD had enough to think about so I decide to keep the news from her.

However I have hardly left my crumpled car in the staff car park before FD is messaging me, ‘Are you ok mum?’. I know FD and I are close, but I have not reckoned on telepathic distress signals transmitting from Bristol to London so quickly. It transpires that I am much more tech-savvy than I give myself credit for and have managed to ‘pocket photograph’ a snap of my car onto my Instagram story. Thankfully it was not the photo I had taken to send to the car workshop but just a photo of the side of the car which illustrates that I am clumsy with my phone and that my car needs washing . I delete the Insta story immediately and FD is reassured that her mother is just displaying her usual cack-handedness and is perfectly safe.

On the last day of term – after my colleagues have treated me to a day of,’ what do you call a one-eyed deer?’ and the even more hilarious play on words, ‘oh dear that will be expensive,’ I am unceremoniously delivered back to my cottage in a rescue vehicle before my Mini is stretchered off for surgery. Having perfected total denial throughout the day I am able to chat happily to the driver who tells me he is just about to move to Italy to get married. I tell him all about my daughter’s wedding and ignore why we have just made acquaintance with each other. I cannot bear to look at my corrugated vehicle when my chauffeur leaves me.

I remind myself that there is always a solution and while I wait for for Himself to arrive to drive us to the Suffolk wedding, I decide to get things moving and speak to the insurance company.

My learning is that a Bank Holiday weekend is not the time to get an insurance claim rolling – or to access a hire car. I soon learn that ‘no blame, no claim’ relates to venison and that there is only my word to state that the deer was responsible. I learn that it is even more important to ensure that when you take out an insurance policy your job title agrees with the information that Customer Services have recorded under this heading. I sail through D.O.B, mother’s maiden name, first pet and postcode but then offer, ‘Teacher or Assistant Head Teacher’ when they ask my occupation.

‘Well which is it?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Teacher or Assistant Head Teacher?’
‘They are both the same, I really cannot remember what I told you when I first started my policy with you in 2012; I have the same employer. What have you got written down?’
‘For GDPR purposes, I cannot tell you what we have recorded. Which do you do more of – teaching or Assistant Head Teaching?’
‘I do 50:50. Just put me down as a teacher.’
‘I’m afraid we cannot do that madam. I will need to check with my manager. Perhaps we could put you down as Head Teacher?’
‘While that would be a huge promotion it would also be a big fat lie. Could you not just put me down as ‘working in Education’?
‘I am afraid that we cannot approve the quote from the Mini workshop until we can clarify your occupation’.
‘Can you at least sort me out a hire car?’
‘As I have explained madam, we cannot proceed with this insurance application until we can clarify your job title; my manager is not back in the office until after the Bank Holiday. I wish you good day’.

I now realise that total denial can be a business strategy as well as well as my personal life choice. I also acknowledge that my colleagues were right; my insurance company has absolutely no idea.

I dissociate for the whole Bank Holiday weekend, and as my last blog attests, distract myself by floating through in a delightful haze of church, champagne and cheese. There is just one tricky moment when one guest comes up to discuss a reference my daughter has made about her mother in her speech; she noted that I can be soppy enough to leave a film/switch off the TV if the content is too sad. This lovely guest shares that he has never been able to watch the whole of Disney’s ‘Bambi’ because he has never been able to ‘push through’ the film’s start…

My return to earth on Easter Tuesday reminds me that I can be in denial no longer. Himself needs to travel back to work and I am duly grounded and home alone. I brace myself to speak to a ChatBot before joining a long queue of other disgruntled policy holders. Eventually, with my call being recorded for training purposes, I am told the good news that my car has not been written off and the bad news that it is still sitting in the workshop until Customer Services can confirm my job title. As the call is being recorded I note that if they fail to speed up the repair work this query will soon be academic (see what I did) for I will no longer have a job if I have no means of getting to school. I feel my irony is lost on the call handler but I am assured that I can have a hire car if I can go and collect it from the depot 10 miles away…

I am starting to bore myself with my own blog, so I will cut to a conclusion:

• A tank of a hire car arrives at 10pm the next evening. The delightful driver – Josh – apologises for the service I have experienced. I tell him that at least I have increased my step count and that the insurer should now have some useful training clips to demonstrate how not to speak to difficult (and sarcastic) customers.
• The hire car is three times the size of my Mini and I find myself wondering how the deer would have fared if it had danced so audaciously in front of this vehicle.
• I discover that I am not (as I had previously believed) the best parker in the world; my mini has the best reversing sensors and she and I work as a nifty team when parallel parking. The tank and I are still getting to know each other and our parking is less balletic. While I am no longer grounded, I tell friends that if they want to catch up with me they will need to find a venue with a wide open car park.
• I have enjoyed some wonderful trail running during the holiday, but on each occasion have experienced deer running out in front of me. I have been relieved to be on foot but have started to wonder if I am the deer equivalent of Catnip.
• I have been using my free time to run around the deer park from which my attacker escaped, ensuring that all fences are in good repair and that there are no deer walking around on crutches. There is a heart in here somewhere. That ‘Bambi’ story hit deep.

I cannot wait to be reunited with my Mini. I am no longer in denial but I have absolutely no idea when I will get to say goodbye to my hire ‘tank’. I do not have the energy to speak to a ChatBot again so may use the down time before term starts to create some meaningful content for my Instagram story – and if my coat pocket and cack-handedness align once more, this story may just actually get uploaded.