I'm very attached to my car. Its about as 1980s as one can comfortably get without fitting a mullet to the roof.
Its an elderly VW Scirocco, replete with an impressively pointless spoiler on the back (on the plus side, the spolier is made of a delightfully black rubber substance that would leave fetishists positively rigid with excitement.)
Which brings me to the point of this post. The car has to go. There are 2 reasons for this. Firstly, the seats are falling to pieces and probably contributed to my broken back and, secondly, I had a very disturbing conversation in the supermarket car park a few weeks ago:
He: (total stranger, smelt a bit of sour milk) "Oh ho, mate, now thats a nice looking sky-rocket"
Me: (non-plussed. Are my jeans that tight?) "Eh?"
He: "The Scirocco. Lovely example you've got there. We call them 'sky-rockets'"
Me: "Ah yes. Sci-rocco = sky-rocket. Haha"
He: "Ha ha indeed! Shame the wheels aren't original, but they're in keeping with the era..."
He stuck his head through the door frame. I contemplated slamming the door with a "so sorry" and driving at speed toward the exit barrier with he still attached.
He: "...its very unmolested and a lovely patina. Even a period car alarm" (I'd wondered what the pointless black box on the dashboard did)
A pause
He: "And electric windows!" This appeared to excite him. An unusual feature of a UK-car of this vintage it seemed.
I would have listened further to his excitement, but could feel my life-force draining. As a I drove off, I glanced at him standing, solitary in the parking bay. One arm outstretched in farewell, the other clutching a membership form I'd filled in with the details of someone I went to school with and never liked very much. I'd swear there was a darkening around his groin. Perhaps a shadow. Either possibility is to horrid to contemplate.
Which is why I have to get rid of this car. It has begun to excite enthusiasts. I think I'll get a Volvo instead.
