Nissan Sunny Chic

I haven’t mentioned that, while on holiday, down in Bournemouth, our car was scratched by some lanky haired stuuudent type in his daddy’s car.


Luckily, I had dispatched the missus from the beach to the top of the hill to the car park to top-up the meter and she had just arrived to see this idiot scrape along one side of our Nissan Sunny chic. He emerges meekly from the car to apologies to her and swaps details…
Which lead to me driving, this weekend, our brand new, courtsey, Ford Fiesta car, while ours is being mended in some dodgy garage, somewhere in Harlow…

“Oi Paul, you gonna ‘ammer out the fucking door of that fucking Nissan today then, or what?”
“Nah, fuck it Tone, loada bollocks innit”
“Yeah, fair enough, fucking middle class bitch can fucking wait, I’ll give her a bell and give her some spiel, make it sarnd technical for the slag”

Thing is, cars don’t really appeal to me, I’ve always been the sort bloke that thinks a car’s a car and so long as it runs, who cares what it looks like! Naive eh? Childlike almost. I know better know, because when I got into my new “courtesy” car and felt power steering for the first time, felt the upholstery, knew what it was like to sit high up in the driving position and felt the powerful engine throb into my loins and through my hands, I was hooked, in love; I’ve even managed to block out, while driving, for the most part anyway, the missus saying over and over again:
“We are NOT getting a new car Steve…don’t even think about it…no Steve…stop grinning, we can’t afford it…no…stop it…”

Tomorrow I get my 1995 Nissan bottom bucket-rusting piece of shit back from the garage.