August 22nd 2017

Today I hoovered my car for the first and last time in the six years I’ve had it. I’m picking up my new car tomorrow, and that means I’m gonna have to get rid of my old one. It’s served me well for six years, but it’s time to upgrade. Even though it’s likely going to be scrapped, recycled and torn up for parts, I felt compelled to clean my old car before I got rid of it.

I’ve never felt particularly compelled to clean it in the entire time that I’ve had it, so I don’t know why I wanted to today. Maybe it’s because I wanted to make it look nice for it’s send off. Or maybe it’s because it’s gonna spend a few days on the drive at my parents house and I didn’t want my dad to be disappointed in me when he saw the state it was in.

I realise that writing about this kind of makes that last point obsolete because my Mum is going to read this, and then she’ll know. How about you just don’t mention it to him, okay, Mum?

Anyway, I couldn’t do that thorough a job because I had to run the hoover from the plug in the house, up a couple of steps and to my driveway. Could I be arsed to set up an extension lead? Absolutely not.


I emptied all the rubbish, hoovered up all the mud, and discarded all the documents from the glove compartment. I found the certificate from my very first MOT with that car. It had to get a new front axle and cost me over £500. Since then, I’ve spent more on repairs than what we (Mum and Dad) paid for the car in the first place.

It’s never once broken down on me though. It’s just not very good at passing MOTs.

I didn’t bother washing it or polishing it or waxing it, or any of the other things a person who cared for their car would do. I just hoovered and tidied, and gave it a weird, not particularly emotional send off.

Until tomorrow, goodbye old friend.



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