It has been a happy and very sad couple of days. On Thursday night we got some wine for the risotto I was making for dinner. We put it in the car fridge that runs off the cigarette lighter. It’s very handy. However, in the morning when the van wouldn’t start, we realised that it had been left on all night and flattened the battery. My mother and I pushed the van down the driveway and down the road with M steering and my Nan sitting high in the middle of the front seat. No joy. The van didn’t want to start. Me and my mum walked back to the front garden and started the Humber to give the van a jumpstart. I backed it out of the driveway. I hadn’t closed my drivers side door. The fencepost nearly ripped it off. Forced it back toward the front of the car. Ripped a hole in the front panel. As I cleared the post the door bounced back. Trashed. Couldn’t believe it. My lovely car. My lovely car that has driven me from Melbourne to Queensland and back again, around Tasmania, up the coast of New South Wales, to a million gigs and band practices. It’s door is like a little broken wing. I just got out of the car and cried. I am so stupid I can’t stand the sight of myself. There’s no way known I’m telling my dad.
Even though my mum took me out and bought us two sets of beautiful towels and got me two tops to wear in Spain, my day was sad. I love my car. My mum was saying ‘It’s only a car…’ which is true. But I love my car in the way I assume those guys who trick their cars up to the nth degree must love their cars. I have had a Humber since I got my drivers license. The engine that I have now is the engine I have always had – I swapped bodies about seven years ago; from white to robins egg blue with a silver roof. Now it looks like I have to find a new front panel and a new door…I have no Humber contacts up here. I was only saying to M the night before that what I wanted for my birthday was for him to finish the dashboard of my car that he started restoring just before we left Melbourne.