Fuel crisis

This is my preferred mode of transport and I use it more than the Miranda our 4x4. In fact I use this so much that I have not yet put my bargain Renatta 4x4 on the road, she sits, used only as a mobile stereo on the smallholding poised ready for action when winter strikes and pedal power in snow and gales is not such a good idea. But I cannot blame today's idiocy on lack of driving.
Today I was in a real hurry, I used Miranda to get to paid work and after that went to the garage to get a can of fuel for the strimmer so I could clear the "garden" ready for the grand design of the dog maximum security block.
Much to my annoyance every pump was full of old farmer types who who were filling their monster trucks, comparing weather forecasts, farming subsidies, price of sheep/cows/feed and loading their pockets with snacks from the shop.
 I waited.
None too patiently.
Eventually one wizened farming type laden with bacon fries and chocolate milk moved away from the pump and I got Miranda's nose in. Quickly I filled the green petrol can with eight quids worth of fuel (when did a fiver not fill a plastic can?) cursed as the pipe would not reach the filler on Miranda so ran in and paid for the fuel. The end of the line cleared and so I reversed out and pulled forward again and parked Miranda right side to the fuel pump and quickly put a tenners worth in to keep me going (not wanting to pay the extortionate village garage pence per litre price) and as the numbers clicked (ok its digital reading but it still clicks in my head) to 10.00 I realised to my horror that I was pouring petrol into Miranda who up until that point had only ever run on diesel.
 I went in and paid the man and confessed my error.
The locals all laughed sympathetically.
 I pondered and phoned a friend who knows about engines.
 He was as much use as a chocolate fire guard and basically said well it will either be alright or it wont. I pondered some more. The queue built up behind me. I decided to fill Miranda with the right stuff and shoved another 80 quids worth of fuel in which at local pump prices was around 2 pints 55 litres and did what any one in my position would do, hoped for the best. In my logic the fuel was now some 7 to 1 diesel and as some diesel engines run on lard Miranda should work on dirty fuel.
She moved and got me to the supermarket where  I got some supplies.
Loaded with goodies and with the engine running I sat on the car park thinking that all would be ok, my day would not go to rats, that things would get better from this point on.
I thought this at the precise point some geriatric lady driver faced with a half empty car park found there was not enough room to maneuver her Fiat 500 and could only stop by crashing into me.
Tomorrow I am going back to cycling everywhere.