What are you reading, you might ask?
Today’s post is in a different vain to usual. It’s a dedication to a car. Yes, I’ve clearly lost the plot. (The men in white coats are hammering at the door and I’m sure I’ll be sectioned in due course.)
Colin the Corsa was my first car. I bought him six years ago when I was 17. Back in 2010, I stumbled across Clive the Corsa, and my Dad needed a new car, so he bought Colin off me.
But now Colin is trundling towards death’s door and it’s nearly time to say goodbye.
(To the more mechanically-minded of you, his headgasket’s gone.)
Your first car is always special. It’s one that you always remember. The memories that you have with that car remind you of the journey you’ve had from a clearly inexperienced driver, to passing your test and beyond. If you’re yet to learn to drive and get your first car, choose wisely. It’s one you’ll never forget.
The word ‘Corsa’ is Italian, apparently. That’s what my old English teacher taught me and he should know because he married one. (An Italian, not a car.) So don’t say you never learn anything from this blog.
R.I.P. Colin the Corsa.
I think I’m going to go for a lie down and then reassess my life.
(Note: I might be weird for naming my cars, but you should never let anyone make you feel bad for having the odd quirk.)