Pic.No.1 My new car - John the motorOne of the main reasons I bought John the motor (excepting its plethora of gadgets) was because of the state of my old car.
Previous to John, I had been driving around in a Peugeot 306 that was 17 years old, and certain factors were starting to point to the fact that maybe it had reached the end of it's useful life.
Factors like my friend - Andy 'Poops' Cooper - who sat in the passenger seat and noted, "I have scrapped cars that are way better than this."
Pic.No.2. My old chariot - a 17 year old Peugeot 306Then there was Steve, who similarly sat in the passenger seat, took a look around and (after recoiling slightly), exclaimed, "your car is bloody minging."
Pic.No.3 Ok, I conceded that maybe the interior may not be considered plush
I had orginally bought the car for £400 ($629 USD) to tide me through a few weeks between selling a previous car and finding myself a new one. But because the Peugeot started every time and did 550 miles to a £60 ($94 USD) tank of diesel, I kept putting off replacing it .......... For two bloody years. My street cred was in tatters. Small children pointed and laughed when I drove by. Vicars would bless me when they saw my jalopy in the street.
But still, I stalled when it came to getting a new car.
Until one day when I was visiting a chum in Leeds, that is. We both ran to get into the car because it was pouring with rain. Sarah jumped into the passenger seat and as we set off driving, water started gushing through a leak in the sunroof, soaking her, the seat and the gearbox.
"Ah bloody hell!" she shouted in disgust, "your car is a [insert rude word] shed!"
And, after watching her hair slowly go frizzy, and seeing the wet patch gradually creep over the legs of her jeans, I had to concur.
So not two weeks later, I purchased John the motor and parked up the old Peugeot in my garden.
Steve noticed the Peugeot's new location when he stopped by to scrounge coffee, "you can't leave that old car rotting in your garden," he said, "it makes you look like a pikey."
I was forced into making a decision ....... The way I figured it, no-one would want to buy it, so that was out. I considered giving it to someone, but I couldn't think of anyone in the vicinity who would want it (this is Oxford dahlink), and delivering it further afield would be more than it was (literally) worth.
So what was a gal to do with a trusty chariot who had reliably ferried her around the UK with not so much as a hiccup?
Scrap it - that's what (but not before syphoning out the last dregs of diesel). Yep, get it crushed into a small ball of twisted metal ..... imagine a cookie inside Roseanne Barr's thighs. Marvellous.
As a result, earlier in the week, I had telephoned a scrap dealer, and he said that he would give me £90.00 ($141 USD) for the car and would pick it up at 8 pm today.
The only flaw in the plan, is that it is now 8.49 pm and there is no sign of him. Maybe, just maybe, my faithful Peugeot has been given a last minute reprieve? I shall keep you informed ....................
P.S. Do you have anything that you are particularly sentimental about? (Unlike me and my car, obviously).