I got a puncture in Italy – and managed to ruin two whole days for 12 people | Zoe Williams

Our holiday misadventure was time-consuming and revelatory. Turns out, Mr Z can change a tyre in his sleep

Getting a puncture in a car always felt like a plot point in a film, a good way to summon chaos, but unlikely to happen in real life. Not if you drive like an undertaker, anyway; surely not if you drive like an undertaker slowing down regularly to admire the view. The whole possibility seemed so remote that even when the car told me it had happened, then swapped languages to tell me again in every tongue of Europe, I still thought: surely some misunderstanding?

Not a misunderstanding, no. I had a flat tyre in a far-off land (well, Italy), an adolescent for company, who was ready with advice but no significant expertise, and no reception. A friendly man came by; he had no reception, either, but gave us a bottle of wine, as if that would help. I was incredibly grateful, naturally, but we already had a bunch of wine - we were driving back from the wine shop. So now I felt like both a puncture-getting fool and the kind of grifter who accepts someone's wine because they are on the take, rather than because they don't know enough Italian to say: No thanks, I've already got some."