I know it’s only been three years since I passed my driving test, but I really struggle to remember what life was like without the luxury of a wee car.
My parents very kindly bought my first runabout: Kit the Ford Ka was a burgundy 52 plate which was so old it made funny noises every time I drove above 60 miles per hour and dribbled oil everywhere.
Kit was an old man, bless him, and only managed a year with me behind his wheel before he was sent off to the scrappy because he was falling apart. Nevertheless along came Kiki; a slightly more up to date version of her predecessor, this time in electric blue with flowery seats and – lo and behold – a working radio. Although she isn’t quite Kit, she’s still my car and when she’s not around then I do feel a little lost, much like the case right now.
I don’t have much luck with cars and so the fact that Kiki would somehow break was sadly inevitable. She’s had a few bumps and bruises over the past few years but not much braced me for what happened this week. My wee, poor car is absolutely goosed. The battery’s given up the ghost, her exhaust is popping and she’s not allowed to sit on the drive because of her massive oil leak. Let’s be honest, a lot of it is my fault. I leave the wee thing parked outside of the house instead of in the garage and drive her to Glasgow and back again at least three times a week. She’s just a fragile wee thing and I tend to forget that.
All joking aside though, this week I’ve realised I really need to start looking after my motor a bit better. Granted, nothing could’ve helped Kit, but poor Kiki’s life’s in my hands and I’m not being a very good owner. Fingers crossed a new battery will help and I think I’m just a bit too attached to her to wave her off to the scrapyard just yet.