End of the Road

As anyone who knows me knows, I own a car, which I happen to love very much. However, circumstances have decreed that I am no longer able to drive it.

This is partly due to having that fit the other week, which means that I am legally not supposed to be behind the wheel of a vehicle when there is still the chance I might wig out and plough headlong into a line of schoolchildren, or something. But a more pressing reason (to me, at least) is that when I took it in for it's annual service, I was told that the chassis had corroded beyond the point of no return.

Of course, this is the risk when you decide to buy a car made in 1987 purely to satisfy a childhood dream and because it looks so damn good. In the immediate future, this means in the next couple of days, I'll have to go down to the garage and say my final farewells to my chariot over the last two years. She took me to Stanstead Airport through the driving rain at stupid O'clock in the morning, she spirited me on many journeys back up North. Now, all that awaits is a trip to the knacker's yard.

Heartbreaking, I'm sure you agree. But of more pressing concern to me is the fact I have to get back on the sodding bus to get to and from work every day again. This means having to get out of bed an extra 20 minutes early and getting home 20 minutes later, with the bonus prize of getting soaked if it happens to be raining. Which living in Manchester, tends to happen a fair bit.

I'm not expecting any sympathy from anyone, but I would like to take this opportunity to offer silence in memoriam of my car, born 1987, died 2011.