Car toon

It's a strange thing. Usually I have inspiration after an event for a post which contains a bit of humour. This is mainly based on the fact that I find life funny, in a good old Scottish, dark kind of way. This time, however, I'm struggling. It was a straightforward holiday, very enjoyable and all that, but I'm almost having to put together a tour guide.
Right, let's get on with it.
We flew to Belfast first - this was due to the much cheapness of EasyJet, which flies from there to Palma. We were going to Majorca, so that was quite handy. We hung about there for a few hours and met my good friend and partners mum and brother, who live over there, for lunch. It was an easy little jaunt down to the balearic island paradise.
My mum, dad and niece were flying direct from Glasgow, since they'd booked a year in advance, and were landing within 5 minutes of our flight in Palma. This worked perfectly and we met at the airport and all went together to get the hire car. In this particular case I'd hired a 7 seater, it was an Espace although the word 'space' should have been missed out. It was, in it's defense, a big car, and did, indeed seat 7. The bit that was missing was that this left no room at all for anything bigger than a box of matches. We did manage to squeeze everything in though, very precarious, and we only had six passengers (which you'd know if you'd been keeping up).
I jumped into the driver's seat, then jumped back out and round to the other side, which was the real driver' seat and inserted the card. Yup. Card. A slot where the ashtray would be with a button next to it saying 'Start/Stop'. I searched in vain for the handbrake and decided to try starting the engine anyway. I put my foot on the footbrake, just in case, and pressed the button. The engine roared into life and the car didn't shoot forward into the wall. All was going very well so far then. I tried to go into first gear, but the thing wouldn't move. I realised quickly that I hadn't pressed the clutch. It's wierd how you forget how to drive when these little things jump out at you. Anyway, finally got moving, the handbrake light went out and all was well. A pretty uneventful trip later and found the apartment and reverse parked. I say this because I had Dad out guiding me in, but couldn't hear him because of this incessant beeping which had started. It kept getting shorter between beeps until finally it was constant. Yes, it turns out that it's a 'Woman's Parker' which tells you how close to the kerb you are when reversing in. Found out a couple of days later that it was a bus stop I'd parked at, but I'm not giving them 60 euros, so there.
The rest of the week was pool and beach stuff mainly, with a trip to some caves, which were nice.
Only other story was on the way back when Belfast security refused to let the wee man's water guns on board. Big purple and yellow plastic things they were, but the guys were adamant. Of course I did have to say "What am I going to do, break into the cabin and say 'Take me to Cuba or I'll soak you?'", which the junior security guy laughed at, even if the older one looked like he was wanting to shoot me with his real gun.