Biking is (still) Emotional

Just got news that my bike will be okay - although that's not what I was told originally...

James (bike mechanic guru - hi James!) called and asked if I was sitting down (it was a safe bet as I'd spent most of the day in re-directed traffic jams), before saying that they "had to re-tap the threads to the larger diameter Italian thread, which" - he hastened to assure me - "was fine except that when we pulled the bike from the work stand and sat it on the floor, the whole bottom bracket just fell clean off..." "Nah...." He was "just joking about the falling apart bit..." (my heart started beating again).
I casually asked if the new Italian threads would work the same (I was trying to keep my voice from shaking even though I was still holding my breath) and - after a bit of a pause - he told me "the 'Italian part' that had been a joke too... Your bike is fine."
"Italian cups??" I asked again (Somehow, I didn't believe him), "Nope, still the original cups - everything went fine; we chased, cleaned and greased the threads and the cups slid back in like new.
"There must have just been some swarf or something in the threads on Sunday... You can come and collect your bike whenever, or I'll bring it up and we'll go riding together..."
I was speechless - and if I wasn't still trying to drive, I would have probably danced around and hugged strangers. Going from new-frame to a friend-to-ride-with in 3 minutes, was almost as big a rush as riding through downtown London at lunchtime. It took quite a few years off my life I think.

Biking is emotional - and I haven't even ridden it in England yet.