Either our car goes to the garage more often than I had realised, or the local garage owner is good with names and faces. He addressed me by name when I took the car round to the garage this morning.
I suppose that's the difference between town and country. Rob, the owner of the garage that has done stirling work keeping my various landrovers afloat for the last two decades, was taught by my mum when in primary school and not only knows my name but where I live, where I work and has been eating my beef for years!
I've had this in the nice restaurant that is usual venue for rare special occasion meals out. Some years ago, I popped in to book a table in person, and she said, "it's Mrs [my surname], isn't it?" At this point, we'd eaten there only twice before, and the previous visit had been around a year ago. I was quite amazed.
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