The Joys Of Motoring

How long ago is it, when you would be visiting friends or cousins in a residential area, that there would always be at least one car sitting outside a house with the bonnet up? And some bloke would be tinkering with it and he might even be underneath it and there would usually be at least two or three other fellows standing around discussing the problem. At some point they'd get it sorted out and off they'd go in a reek of blue exhaust smoke. You don't see that any more. Because nowadays cars are so complicated and so electrical that only skilled mechanics with diagnostic machines can fix them. And at great cost too.

Take my rotten car. I've only just spent £300 plus getting some electrical problem sorted out and  I had hoped that I might get a few months of  problem free motoring. But no. The other day the wipers came on and I couldn't get them to go off again. It was a fine dry day too. The whole wiper unit was loose and wobbly. After much trial and error I got them switched off. Told myself that Young Loveheart would sort the problem out. I mentioned it to him. He knew the problem. Could he fix it? Not easily. That's a whole new comms unit that will cost at least £300.

I have asked Bert to buy me a pony and trap.

New Blue Car

There was great excitement at Nellybert's today when Miss Martha took delivery of a new blue car. Well - new to her anyway. The vehicle had one previous owner, a Master Rainey, and apart from a bit of dog chew damage at the back bumper it was a great wee runaround. Now Miss Martha can be just like Granny and drive around in a bright blue, rather dirty car.

But there was one problem. The congestion in Nellybert's yard was damnable. She could hardly move the wee motor an inch!

Dead Computers and Rancid Cars

This post is not about Christmas. No sir!

My PC died a death on Tuesday evening. Dave may bring her back to life again with transplant surgery but there are files I may never see again. Oh well. Hardware isn't what it used to be. I remember in the olden days of Spectrums and Commodores you could have beaten someone to death with your machine and it still would have worked perfectly.

Then there was the stink about the car. I first noticed the niff about ten days ago. I thought I might have spilled milk whilst transporting groceries. Today I bit the bullet and gave that car a good cleaning out and it was there, under the baby blankets, gilets, cowboy boots and assorted unnecessary paperwork that I found it - a tupperware container of rancid beef stew wearing a long blue beard. It was only the icy conditions that prevented it from taking legs and walking. At least it wasn't milk. I'd never have got rid of that smell.

It all brought back a feeling of deja vu.

Behind The Times

....meanwhile Nelly is well behind the times in not realising that Google Street View had eventually got the length of the loanins, boreens and keshes of Norn Iron. Well better late than never. Bert and I were this very evening negotiating our virtual way around Craigs and Dunminning looking for a particularly charming thatched cottage. "Y'know," says I, "It might even be quicker to get in the car and drive there."

And speaking of the car - this evening while placing my mother's weekly shop in the boot (trunk for youse Americans) I caught sight of something grey and furry. I took it for a dead rabbit at first. Closer inspection showed my rabbit to be a pile of German Shepherd puke with a fungal beard growing on it. I did cringe for my car had been at the auto electricians all day Tuesday and I know that the man was all over it looking for a fault. I wondered at his sad, pitying look as I collected my keys. Now I know. He thinks I am the sort of person who drives around with a pile of moldering dog vomit in my car. I am that person.

NOT EXACTLY GWNI

but you can give it a go if you want

At lunchtime today I walked from here...

...to here. Then I walked back again. It took me 42 minutes.

In Which I Clean My Car

My Hairy Helpmates

Matty has been dropping hints about me getting a new car. She does not like my current vehicle because it is too hairy and she has a serious aversion to dog hair. I’m afraid I am not prepared to give up the pleasures of taking Bonnie and Paddy out in the car just to please her and if she wants to buy herself a nice clean wee motor then I’ll happily drive her around in it. I don’t know where she got all these notions from, her having been a farmer’s wife and all. I blame Ganching and the London Sister. They come over here and hire shiny clean cars to ferry Matty around in and now she thinks that’s the way life should be.

Hairiness I can handle and the smell of a wet dog is one of my favourite scents but when the car starts to smell faintly yogurty then it’s time to get busy. It wasn’t easy getting the cleaning done with both dogs in the car watching me and totally refusing to get out. Half an hour later I had vacuumed a ton of hairs and found several quids worth of loose change, one rotten banana and a mouldy orange. Surely that was the source of the smell? I trailed the dogs out, closed all the doors and went for a coffee break. When I returned the cheesy reek was still there. I moved to the boot. There was a big cardboard box of Pearlie’s surplus ornaments that I keep meaning to drop off at a charity shop. I noticed that the edge of the box looked nibbled. Maybe there was a family of mice living in my car and they had all died and that was the source of the smell. With much trepidation I started to clear the boot out. By this time Zoe and Dave and Young Loveheart and Bert were all standing around sniffing my car and making disgusted faces. Young Loveheart (him being a mechanic) ripped the boot apart and there before us was the source of the smell. Some sort of buttermilk dripping through into the well where the spare wheel lived had all had turned to cheese and was quietly fermenting. My spare wheel was covered with stinking cheese! Oh the scrubbing, the boiling water, the bleaching and the power hosing that had to be done before I got rid of it.

Later I asked Young Loveheart if, in the course of his duties, he came across many filthy cars.

Oh yes.

And what has been the rottenest car you have ever seen?

Oh yours. Without a doubt.

A Visit to the Dingle Peninsula

I had a smashing time in Kerry – literally! The first thing I smashed was the passenger side bumper of my car. This was the result of a little accident I had whilst pulling out from a shop in Limerick. He came from nowhere m’lud. And far too bloody fast and me in serious need of a coffee break. Which is what I’d stopped for. Being a twit I immediately admitted guilt and the wee lad was OK about it. His car was barely marked but as usual he wanted to go through the boring crap of garages and quotes. There’s my bumper hanging off and all his entire car got was a wee scuff on its paintwork. With time to think about it I realise it was as much his fault as mine.

We settled the matter with fifty euro and I hope never to hear from him again. I have reason to believe I might not. Unless he reads this blog.

Then the following day I sat on my camera whilst out on a beach walk with the Kerry Sister and Brandon. I was a wee bit gutted but decided it was a perfect opportunity to get a nicer camera.

It is thirteen years since I stayed west of Dingle and I saw a lot change in the place. The Kerry Sister’s garden was amazing. Last time I’d been there it was a wee patch of flowers, a bit of fuchsia, some crocosmia and a couple of fields of stone and rushes. She’s been busy this last decade. It must have helped that Brandon’s a digger man as well as a dry stone waller. But he’d be the first to admit that most of the work was done by the Kerry Sister herself.

Then there was the extension – which was perfectly in keeping with the charm of the old house. Once again the pair of them had carried out most of the work themselves. It's nice for Brandon to be married to a carpenter. I was very impressed.

Dingle has got very modern. And the tourists have changed. There were hardly any Americans (cannot afford Europe these days) and many fewer Germans although there were lots more Japanese.

Other things have changed too. Once it was only the tourists drove decent cars. The locals moved around in rusty cars or ancient tractors. The fields were full of donkeys. Now there’s hardly a donkey in sight. It’s all SUVs, brand new tractors and ponies. These days the only people driving crappy cars are sure to be tourists – like me.

At least I managed to get to the top of Mt Brandon without breaking anything!

Phone Calls from Abroad

Firstly and secondly from Hannah who may, or may not, be coming home next weekend. If she does that will be great for me for I will see all my girls for Christmas. If she does not then that will be good too for it will mean she is continuing with her adventures in Thailand.

Thirdly from Glen, who we waved goodbye to a fortnight ago. He and his family are starting a new life in Brisbane and, so far, they're getting on just fine.

It's been a busy weekend. Got the car through the MOT on Saturday, which is always nervewracking. And not just having to drive up the ramps at the PSV carwash. I said to the bloke there,

Does anyone ever actually fall in?

He says,

Oh aye. Young girl last week in a Ford Ka, my boy waves at her to go this way, she goes the other way and drops in on the driver's side. Totally jammed in. She couldn't even get out.

I'm sure she was terribly annoyed about it?

Not one bit. She rolled down her window and says, 'I made a right balls-up of that, didn't I?'

I envy such nonchalance.

After making my ride legal again I visited London Sister at Matty's and we went for a bit of a walk. Bumped into and chatted to everyone who lives on Matty's road which took up a bit of time. Then today we went to Swisser's for a delicious tea. It was four course, organic (so she claims) and totally yummy. So here we are, Sunday evening again. Where the hell do weekends go to?

What Sort Of A So-Called Man....

...would have Rihanna's Umbrella on his mobile phone?

Personally I find it offensive, when I'm obliged to ring someone up, to hear, instead of a perfectly sensible ringtone, the downright gayness of that ubiquitous dross.

Has he no shame?

But then what would you expect of a man who acts the complete maggot just because I touched the bumper of his BMW with my dented Polo.

Danced with aggressive rage he did.

Later when I was speaking with him and arranging to pay for the damage done I remarked to him that he was a sight more civil now than he was when the incident occurred. He said that if it had happened the other way around I wouldn't have been too nice either.

I don't think so mate.

Things To Do On A Saturday

1. Go do planty things in the greenhouse.
2. Have major tussle with vile pampas grass. Lose.
3. Go see Jolly Joe about car getting MOTd.

4. Take Matty to Homebase and buy loads more seeds.
5. Take Matty to new charity shop in Antrim Town. Buy a book.
6. Take Matty and Rosie to Lough Shore and buy strawberry ice creams.

7. Take camera out to fields and sneak up on rare and exotic wildlife and take lots of photographs of same.
8. Do some work for seriously overdue college assignment.
9. Give Hannah a lift into town.
10. Eat chocolate. Mess around on computer.
11. Forget to call Joe to hear if car got through MOT.

Green Car

I got another car this evening. Bert bought it for me...he'd do anything rather than drive me to work.

Then I drove it to Belfast International to pick up Jamie. Don't ask me what the car looks like because I haven't actually seen it yet. It was dark. I'm told it's green.