Boxing Day Breakdown

What a disaster, but what a lucky escape at the same time. After dropping the Offsprogs off at their Nan's house, I drove back via the Blackwall Tunnel and the North Circular. On the way through the tunnel, I thought about how terrifying it would be to break down under the River Thames in such busy and impatient traffic, with so many drivers still drunk from last night. The car was running really well and I was on the home straight passing Wood Green, when the traffic suddenly slowed down and I could see a huge queue ahead from the flyover that I was driving over.
At that moment, the car suddenly expired.
The foot brake jammed, the power vanished from the steering wheel, and there was just enough momentum to hoist it up on to the hard shoulder, although the back of it was still poking out into the heavy traffic coming over the top of the flyover. Basically, it had conked out in the middle of five lanes of traffic.
I climbed out of the passenger door and phoned the breakdown company. In a nutshell (I've edited this to remove more dangerous things) they turned up after an hour and towed the car to a quiet street, where the grumpiest Breakdown Chap In The Entire Universe started to test the electrics. Everything looked very doomy at one point, but I did pipe up that I thought a coil might have blown, even though he was so grumpy that it was frightening talking to him.
After an hour of tests, stinking smoke came out of the engine and I got out of the car in case it exploded. Eventually, I saw smoke pouring out of one of the coils as he turned the engine over, and hey presto! that was where the problem had been.
He changed the coil and the car started running perfectly.
It was a massive relief to get back home. I was bloody starving and ate half a fridgeful of food.
That's the first time that I have not tipped a breakdown man.