I have bought myself a new car! Well, ‘new’ might be stretching credibility, but certainly different. It was parked outside someone’s house with a For Sale sign taped in the window when I drove past it this afternoon. And being offered at what seemed like a very reasonable price.
It’s yellow and Japanese – a nation who, as well as being healthy eaters are, I’m sure, car manufacturers of great repute. Before I’d even knocked on the door to the house I think I’d probably decided to buy it. The vendor – Alan – seemed quite nonplussed by my enthusiasm. Perhaps he’d expected me to haggle. I had a little sit in it and straight away it just felt much better, size-wise, than John’s Jag, so we shook on it and whilst it wasn’t a huge sum of money it’s more than I tend to carry around with me, so I had to drive over to Sheringham to find a cash machine.
On the coast road, just over the brow of a hill, I went flying past a speed camera. Slammed my brakes on, as one does in such situations. But even as I did so I was thinking that there was something distinctly hinky about it. Something not quite right.
Sheringham itself is a town full of old men hanging about outside shops waiting for their wives and generally cluttering up the pavements. But on my way back I got a better look at the speed camera and laughed out loud when I realised. It’s completely home-made. Apparently knocked up out of a few bits of plywood. Presumably, by some disgruntled local who’s sick to death of cars speeding past the end of his drive. Something about the dimensions let it down – it’s a tad too skinny. But the colour (probably the most important part of the deception) is quite convincing – the same canary yellow as my new car, which, for some reason, I took as a good omen.
Alan had just counted out the money on his kitchen table and I was all ready to head off in my new car when he pointed out that I wouldn’t very well be able to drive both cars back on my ownsome. To be honest, I was half inclined to just leave him the Jag. But Alan had a little think and told me that if I didn’t mind waiting a couple of hours, he’d happily drop it round when his wife got in from work. And at the agreed time my lovely little car pulled into the village car park, with Alan at the wheel and his wife in the car behind him. I must say that as he handed over the keys I couldn’t help but notice his missus staring at me, as if she’d been told about this crazy woman who goes round buying old cars without taking them for test drives or haggling over the odd fifty quid.
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After all that excitement I decided that a little cat nap was in order and, for once, woke up feeling quite peaceful and rested. I have no idea how I achieved this. It seemed to have happened almost by accident. Even as I marvelled at my condition I fully appreciated that it wouldn’t/couldn’t possibly last. That, within a matter of minutes, my old neuroses would re-establish themselves, etc. But it gave me hope that there might be a point sometime in the future when that sense of equilibrium might last for hours, even days at a time.