Jonathan Dodd‘s latest column. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
Isn’t the hot weather lovely! I’m not one of those moaning minnies who complain all winter about how cold it is, then complain as soon as it becomes balmy. It’s glorious, and I want it to stay like this as long as possible. I want an Indian Summer, then an Australian Summer, and then back to our own lovely English summer again, and so on, ad infinitum.
I don’t even mind a bit of rain occasionally, to clear the air and water the garden and keep everything green. It can thunder and lighten if it likes, or whatever the verb for lightning is. I’m thrilled to be leaving my coat at home and wandering about in as few clothes as possible, given current standards of public decency.
My greatest achievement in Grunge Motoring
I am using a lot more screenwash though, especially with leaving cars regularly in Ryde and Southsea, close to the sea. I’m not a great washer of cars – Swamp Car being my greatest achievement in Grunge Motoring. Thank goodness for windscreen wipers, I say. Especially if you’re lucky enough to have one at the back too. I usually have vehicles with a door at the back, so that’s normal for me, but my mainland car that flies up and down the A3 (when it’s not at a standstill because of accidents), is a saloon, so the rear windscreen doesn’t have a wiper. I feel strongly that it should.
I’ve never understood the obsession that some people have with their cars. I understand the concept of ‘Work to live rather than live to work’, because most of have to have legal ways of paying the mortgage, but cherish the life we have. A car, though, is just a means of transport.
A car with the marks of character and experience
I prefer older cars. They’ve been proven to work, because previous owners broke them in and sorted out any problems, and they’ve already been through that awkward moment in any new car-owner’s life when the brand-new-spanking thing gets its first scratch or dent. I like a car with the marks of character and experience. All it has to do is start when I want it to, and ditto stop. And it has to take me where I want to go when I want it to.
I find in my peripatetic working life that an old car is much safer. The older and more decrepit it looks, the less desirable it is, the more likely it is that it’ll still be there when I return to it at the end of the working day. The only car I ever had that someone tried to steal was a Ford Escort XR3i.
No self-respecting car thief
It was foolish of me to buy it, even though it was a bargain at the time, because I was working in Essex at the time. I joined a writing group, and caught a couple of boys trying to hotwire it during the break. I never understood why people who can run that fast even want a car. I’ve been able to park any number of vehicles in the scariest of places without fear, knowing that no self-respecting car thief would deign even to consider giving them the once-over.
This rule doesn’t seem to apply in Wales though. I once worked in Cardiff at the tail end of a year, and parked the car in the Station car park there. I remember I never saw Cardiff dry, because it rained constantly. In my memory it lives on as an extended visit to a waterfall.
Burnt it before having their supper
I was driving a drab green Nissan Cherry at the time, and one particularly rainy night I came over the pedestrian bridge and saw two shadowy figures. They took off when I shouted, and I thought I had stopped them in time, only to discover that they had lobbed a brick through the driver’s door window. I think they had just wanted to avoid going home in the rain. They would probably have taken it away and burnt it before having their supper.
I didn’t have spare money for a new window, so I had to drive it without for a month or so, and I had to spread a bin liner on the seat, because it was always wet. I discovered that having no driver’s window looks exactly the same as having one in place, unless you notice the lack of reflected light. But it’s not nice driving down the M4 without one, at the end of November. In the rain.
A perfectly serviceable Saab
It always makes me wonder when I meet someone who has that car worship thing going on in his head. I once worked with a charming Nigerian called Sydney. He was always well-turned-out at work, but his real pride and joy was his car. He had a perfectly serviceable Saab, but he despised it because it wasn’t German, and the paintwork wasn’t immaculate.
Neither of us was particularly well-off at the time. I can’t even remember what I was driving at the time. But he actually became miserable and ashamed of his car. One Monday he turned up to work beaming, because he’d traded his Saab in for a large black VW. It was older, had higher mileage, but it was shiny, had leather seats, and it made him happy. Sadly, the engine blew up and he had to go back to cut-price motoring.
I imagined him driving a top-of-the-range BMW
Recently we got back in touch. This was several jobs and years later, and his fortunes had improved. Jokingly, I said that I imagined him driving a top-of-the-range BMW. “Oh no!” he said. “I’ve got a Jaguar now!” It made him happy. Who am I to disrespect that? It just doesn’t work for me, that’s all.
I’m not proud of my car. I don’t think it adds to my social standing or my personality. I don’t think it makes me more attractive. It’s just a thing I use in my daily life, it has a function, and I judge it by how faithfully it performs that task.
But I do have to share a small secret. When Swamp Car passed its MoT I was so pleased that I promised it a complete wash and clean-up. I just haven’t got round to it yet. Maybe next year.
If you have been, thank you for reading this.
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