Last week they came and took away our old car, aged 14 years old (!) That battered old bomb that I’ve known for 10 years, and owned for 6. It’s been with us through thick and thin, through the 3 times our parents came to visit, and the few years TM was living here. Through 3 addresses, and a number *cough* of boyfriends (of both m”s & mine!) Through when my hair was short, then long, then short again. And when m”s hair was curly, then straight, then curly again. It accompanied me all the way to, and around, Sydney, and back.
That loyal, ancient thing which was our first vehicle, and which inadvertently gave us quite a fair bit of troubles, not least because we don’t know zip about anything under its bonnet. We scratched it, crashed it (only lightly though), but we loved it. It died – in the middle of the road, TWICE!, but then was revived. We spent a shitload of money replacing its tattered parts over the years, and in return it carted us around on many many a kilometre without much whinging (except for those few rare times.)
If only we’d had a big yard, and not have to pay yearly registration for it, we’d totally keep it there, even if it was going to just forlornly gather dust. When they came to tow it away, I couldn’t bring myself to go outside. Until I did. And upon seeing m”s sulky face, I specifically told her not to get too emotional. And yet here I am…
Gosh, how I miss that bloody old bomb!!! 😦