“Jacqui and Annette: The Breakdown Babes of Brentwood”

A Humorous Historical Tale from the Golden Age of Clipboards and Ciggies

In the mighty motoring heart of Brentwood, sometime in the late 1980s (a golden era of perm hairspray and power shoulder pads), two Essex legends emerged from the acrylic fog of lunchtime Prosecco and Benson & Hedges Menthols. Their names? Jacqui and Annette. Their mission? To save Britain’s broken-down motorists one sassy phone call at a time.

Jacqui, the undisputed queen of the headset, had nails like ice picks and could type 80 words per minute while simultaneously reapplying Rimmel lip gloss and rolling her eyes at management. Annette, her work-wife and karaoke rival, had a hairdo so vertical it required planning permission, and a habit of saying “babe” three times per sentence, minimum.

They worked at Rescue Royalty Ltd., a motor breakdown insurance company where the printer was haunted and the office kettle made noises like a dying Mini Metro.

Every Monday morning at 9 a.m. sharp, they’d slap down their leopard-print handbags, fire up their beige Commodore computers, and start answering calls from a distressed public.

Caller: “I’ve broken down on the M25!”

Jacqui: “Babe, you think you’ve broken down? You should see my split ends.”

Annette: “Where are you exactly, love? Near the services? Ooh, I love those doughnuts they do.”

They were efficient, if slightly off-script. Between them, they could locate a Ford Sierra faster than most sat-navs and diagnose a flat battery with the psychic accuracy of Mystic Meg.

At lunch, they’d sit in the staff car park in Jacqui’s metallic-blue Escort XR3i, sharing a bag of Cheese & Onion crisps and blasting Bananarama at a volume that caused minor seismic activity in the accounts department.

One day, disaster struck. A nationwide fax outage. Total communications breakdown. The blokes in management were useless—Barry from IT just kept unplugging and plugging things back in while muttering about “electromagnetic spirits.”

But our girls? They went full hero mode.

Annette commandeered the tannoy system and began doing live updates in her best “Radio 1 Traffic” voice. Jacqui scribbled down callouts by hand and handed them to Dave the dispatch guy, who sprinted like a confused gazelle from desk to van, high on Lucozade and panic.

By 3:45 p.m., the system was back. The managing director—who normally communicated only via memos and long glares—personally thanked them with a free round of egg mayo sandwiches from the vending machine and a laminated certificate of excellence.

Annette framed hers.

Jacqui turned hers into a drinks coaster.

And that night, under the glimmer of the Essex moon, the girls toasted their triumph with a bottle of Lambrusco and a spontaneous dance-off in the car park to “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.”

Epilogue:

Jacqui went on to open her own nail salon called “Breakdown & Buff.”

Annette married a mechanic named Tony who still doesn’t know how to fix a car stereo but calls her “Princess Carburettor” to this day.

Legends. Both of them.