Although not something which’ll register on either national or local news bulletins, the car I recently took delivery of is the first diesel engined vehicle I’ve owned in thirty plus years of motoring.

Despite this being a low interest story, though, I still feel moved to impart this thinnest of informational gruel to you my beloved reader. The need for this revelation a precursor to the tale of my first ever refuel with the aforementioned gasoline. An episode which wasn’t without its share of personal angst.

It wasn’t the most stressful gas station incident I’ve ever faced. Today’s inaugural diesel top up comfortably usurped in the drama category by an episode in my late teens where a buddy’s moped caught fire on a Corfu Town forecourt. An incident discussed at length in my narrative Moped Misery.

Anyhow back to todays episode. Upon parking on the garage forecourt, desperate not to select the green nozzle and accidentally fill the vehicle with unleaded fuel, I produced levels of concentration I’d probably not attained since studying for/sitting my HNC in Business Studies exams in 1983.

My neurosis predominantly borne from my penchant for regularly undertaking tasks in autopilot. GJ Strachan knowing full well that one minor concentration slip could lead to this motor, which’s only been in my possession for just over a week, acquiring a tank full of unfit for purpose gasoline. Subsequently landing yours truly with a hefty bill to rectify this wanton laxity.

Even following placing the black diesel nozzle into the tank entrance, like a rugby player’s constant checking of the ball then goal posts prior to kicking a conversion, I took several looks back and forth towards the pump and nozzle prior to triggering the fuel flow.

Only when I fully assuring myself I’d selected the correct gas did I press the trigger and return to a world where full concentration’s an infrequent bedfellow. Yours truly’s mind returning to random thoughts, including being blindsided by notions of whether BBC newsreader George Alagiah owned a diesel car.

Quite why I mulled over the type of fuel powered the engine of the amiable broadcaster is anyones guess. An inquiry whose content bore such randomness, I wouldn’t have been surprised if even Google was unable to locate the idiosyncratic conundrum’s answer. To be honest, though, as I genuinely don’t care either way about whether George’s motor guzzles diesel, I’m resolved not to further research the matter via internet search engine.

This indifference despite me being at a knowledge disadvantage if (although admittedly remote) Mr A ever read this prose; and we met. ……Well, that’s if it’s disadvantageous for someone to know your vehicles fuel type when you don’t know theirs. Which, coming to think of it, it probably isn’t.

Hypothetically, if I was forced at gun point (which again is unlikely) to guess if George’s car bore a diesel engine, I’d predict the answer to be in the affirmative. Incidentally, my observation ‘it’s unlikely’ isn’t borne from a position of complacency I’d never be held at gunpoint in my life; although clearly it’s something I’m keen to avoid.

I’m a certain as I could ever, though, should I ever get held at gunpoint my attackers motive for introducing this jeopardy won’t be to ascertain the fuel type of a BBC newsreader’s automobile.

Well unless they were planning to use the newscaster’s motor as a getaway car from a heist of some sort. But even then they’d be better to illicit the information from Mr Alagiah himself, rather than confronting me to furnish that knowledge void…… Especially, as I’ve no idea what the answer is.

In my defence, though, should I be expected to know that particular snippet of detail? Even the finest brains in the land (of which clearly I’m not included) probably won’t know which type of gasoline powers Georgey boy’s car.

As is the case with yours truly, why would they take time to learn that soupçon of automotive detail. Unless they were writing a paper on the petrol station habits of news broadcasters, or intended to borrow Mr A’s motor, possessing that informational trinket would add little, if anything, to their overall zeitgeist.

Anyhow, enough already about George Alagiah’s car fuel. For the rest of the day I’m going to concentrate on more important issues surrounding the UK’s socio/political climate – Such as whether BBC weather presenter Carol Kirkwood owns a mobile phone device with an Android operating system.