Nothing about tango today, I just thought you may enjoy this.
There are many advantages to owning an old car: The free road tax, the low insurance and for me the ability to actually repair it myself, but for all pleasure there is a pain side as I am about to tell.
My Suzuki Cappuccino has finally been sold. I could no longer justify the cost involved with running three cars, so The Tart has been pressed back into service. My trusty Triumph Herald always starts and will continue running no matter what, as she did that first summer when she overheated and blew the head gasket. We still drove her home from Stafford, all be it with some care as I did not want to destroy the engine completely. Never the less she made it all the way home and after some work on my part and a cylinder head refurbishment company in Cornwall is now better that ever.
Being an old car she still rattles and knocks and she still has a few idiosyncrasies, but I enjoy my short journeys to work in her.
So on one fine morning I am making my way down the Wrexham LLanypwll link road just enjoying the drive. At the end there is a roundabout and from there on we hit the road works that will one day be the new Industrial estate link road. As I am about to enter the roundabout I see a car coming from the opposite direction, if I am quick I can pull out ahead of him and carry on without stopping. The speed I took the roundabout was, a little faster than I would have liked, but not excessive. The Tart however did not agree and in protest threw the passenger door wide open. As I turned again sharply left into the road works the inertia slammed the door shut again, no problem all is calm and I continued on my way.
Not until I arrived at work did I think about the lunch Viv had lovingly prepared for me that had been sat on the passenger seat. It was all gone, the freshly cut sandwiches, the tasty yogurt, the fruit for my breakfast, my bag and the butty box that Viv had had for centuries. There was nothing I could do now but mope about it all day, buy my lunch and hope that I could recover the bag on my way home.
Home time came and I left work taking a slightly different route so that I could stop my car in the lane that approached the roundabout from the other direction. I parked a few yards short and got out to investigate the scene. First site was disappointing; there was no sign of the bag on the grass verge or the undisturbed road workings at the edge of the roundabout. Then I saw it, my heart sank. It was classic road kill. Spread all over the road was my bag with bits of green butty box scattered about and embedded in the material was the detritus that had once been my lunch. I could bear it no longer, I left it to rest in (well not actually in peace), and returned home to tell Viv what had become of her wifely efforts.
Tonight the bag is still there on the road, but my lunch travelled in the back of the car, in a cheap carrier bag.