In the back of my car is a bag. Only a small bag, with only a few bits in it, just enough for me to provide some sort of basic assistance if I ever come across something. I have a bad habit of doing so. I know if it's there that there's a much better chance that I won't need it.
In the back of my wife's car is no such bag. On the rare occasions that we swap cars (hers has more seats and therefore easier to transport more small, noisy people), I swap the bag over too. I like knowing that it's there. It's my comfort blanket. Today was one of those rare swap occasions. Except that I forgot the bag. About 3 miles from home, car full of large and small people, all noisy, I remembered it. Not being the swearing type (apart from the fact that my kids were in the car so I couldn't even if I wanted to), I muttered lots of gibberish, cursed my stupidity, and repeatedly told myself that I bet I come across something.
Two minutes further up the road there's a traffic jam. I crawl around the blind bend to see the first signs of glass and debris all over the road. Then the police cars. Then the mangled Ford with a large Range Rover shaped dent in it. I KNEW IT! I JUST KNEW IT! The one time I forget the bag, and I'm gonna need it! As there's nowhere safe to stop just yet, I keep crawling with the traffic. I get a little closer, and just there, hidden behind the tall hedge, hidden just well enough and just long enough to scare me, is the ambulance. No need for the bag. Lucky. I get to my destination and breathe a sigh of relief that despite my stupidity, my little bag still wasn't required.
On the way home, very near the scene of the RTA, is a car stopped by the side of the road. In front of it is a bicycle lying at a strange angle, and two women standing comforting each other. Neither is injured, so no need for the bag again. Lucky again.
But next time I swap cars, I'll make sure I remember it, because you-know-who's law only rarely takes a break...