Litterbugs

Lidl's has the best cottage cheese in the world and I love cottage cheese. I'd run out and it was time to get some more. All I needed was the cheese and some porridge oats but I ended up spending 28 quid. As you do. Tiramisu ice cream, gherkins, sour cream, frozen pizza, chocolate, red wine, spring rolls, you know, all the basic necessities of life.

As I was hefting my huge bag of groceries into the boot, giving all due consideration to my back, this wee shiny red R-plated car squealed into the car park on two side wheels. The driver roared her into a parking space with a great flourish and his front passenger opened the door and dumped a bag of McDonalds rubbish at his feet. I looked on with bemusement at the arrogance of the wee fucker and a bin only thirty seconds from where he sat. He and two of the back seat passengers got out and swaggered into the shop. I wondered what they were for buying? Probably not gherkins.

The thing is their car was shiny and clean. The chaps were well dressed in whatever boring fashionable duds dull and unimaginative fellows wear these days. Their hair was nicely cut and they were altogether shiny and clean. But inside they were dirty, filthy blackguards and obviously their parents have done a rotten job of bringing them up and I itched to go over and give the driver a good slap.

Did I? Of course not. I just drove off, munching on chocolate, in my utterly filthy car, whilst pondering this very blog post.

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.