Today I let my neighbour borrow Charlie Micra. With his own car out of commission, W- has been stuck in our little field for a while and with things to do in the outside world, that’s hardly an ideal situation. I was still hard-pushed not to sprint after the car in a very ungainly fashion screaming, “For the love of all things, don’t take my baby!”
It’s stupid – in theory I’m all for lending out cars. Why should my motor sit unused when someone else has need of it? In reality though, it’s very different when it’s my car. Charlie Micra has been with me for four years. We’ve travelled Europe together, been up and down the length of this country and have carried a more varied range of passengers than any other private vehicle I’ve known of. We’ve carried uni friends on holiday, wooden chests and kitchenalia to Denmark, moved house, and taken 85-year-old men to their childhood holiday destinations.
I don’t honestly know what I’d do without a set of wheels. I’ve often toyed with the idea of handing my keys over, simply because of the rising costs of motoring but in reality, even this afternoon is somewhat crippling. My plans to go and wander round antique shops in search of some storage – despite being sketchy at best – have been scuppered.
I am now sitting here, awaiting Charlie’s return and biting my finger nails.