A New Record

Today I broke a record. With my motor - no I didn't beat a boy racer or hit a pedestrian on a zebra crossing, nor even get away first from the lights, my Polo tends not to show off in that way. In fact this record was a personal worst. My petrol tank ate forty five quid's worth of petrol in a single sitting - or glug. Naturally being ancient I thought this one through and pondered that if anybody had ever told me that I would one day have a motor with this capacity I would have envisaged a Roller or at the very least a Merc, I would have seen myself as having grown rich beyond my wildest dreams. This is not so, all I have is my nice efficient little Polo that takes me round in its  reliable way, creating no stir just melting into the background modestly, a quiet unassuming little car.
The most exciting car I ever had was a Triumph Vitesse that turned on a sixpence (whaddat?) even the spell check doesn't know! I have had Fords like great cumbersome dirigibles that brought a ghastly tense excitement  to my life, a 'would it wouldn't it finish - or even start the journey' kind of excitement.  I can do without this - easily. I once had a Micra that I managed to injure in its nether regions on a rough path outside Inverness and we limped back in hideous tension of intent version feasability. we made it. I have had cars that the local AA men knew  far too intimately. My Polo is a sweet relief.

My lover has a car of hugely disreputable aspect, it flies darkly with no sheen on its body at all and bits have dropped off it long ago. Still it moves neatly fleetly through south London and people don't mess with this nothing-to-lose vehicle, she drives in the Italian way, but she doesn't shout or swear at other drivers - she just overtakes them with vast elan and quiet determination.  I call this Fiat the chariot and give it massive respect. I extend it to the driver.
So why do I continue to drive? I don't much enjoy it and I have my bus pass. Still I like the idea of having a motor. I like the actuality too, for the shopping alone it is worth keeping. I sometimes wonder how one woman and a terrier can consume the sheer weight of food that we manage to get through, I stagger from Aldi with huge bags of veg and dog food then I hit Waitrose for the sweet excesses that make life worthwhile and I hump it all into the house - and, ultimately we nosh it. I enjoy my greed.
I always buy my petrol with my debit card it doesn't impact quite so much as shelling out real bread. I fool myself. In fact on this last occasion my card didn't work and I had to hand over readies! Nasty! Then I had to go to the bank to sort my card. So thoughts of cars and the cost of petrol came vigorously to mind and gave me pause.
I think it's the time factor that keeps me driving, and the comfort factor too. The waiting for buses or fighting your way onto the tube that is the incentive to keep the motor. Last week my poor old dog nearly had cardiac arrest at London Bridge in the rush hour, or was that me? Probably both of us, one of the few advantages of advanced age is seldom having to experience the joys of rush hour and I am deeply grateful every time.

I think back to when we could drive from the petrol station in the West End to Brighton for a fiver there and back - or is that a myth that I have misremembered? And I remember flying down the old arterial road at four in the morning  straight from a club to Southend and the Kursall  shut tight, and driving to London Airport for the joy of  looking at it!  Having a cup of char in a greasy spoon and driving back.  But before I slip away into the mists of time I got brought back a bit sharpish this week with my road tax bill for a year so I expect that's me committed for another year.
I do blame myself though, I swear!