This is what my darling car looked like: Photo courtesy of GoldScotland71 on Flickr

Had fun driving down memory lane today, quite literally, as I’ve cast my first car in the 365 novel (The novel really needs a name – suggestions welcome!).

My first car was a ‘Dove Grey’ Skoda Estelle. Dad bought it for me when I graduated and sold it to me with the information “It has five gears and five doors!” which, for a car of that age and budget, was pretty rare. I knew immediately it was a Skoda, my greatest fear. I worked in a bar and I guess I’ve heard every Skoda joke going.

Still, I loved that car despite having to undertake wacky things like removing the carburetor to take home in a carrier bag or having to bleed the clutch with a broom in a service station off the M6. Expect some of these experiences to appear in future Claire posts… I’m a firm believer in writing what you know.

This one’s for you, Dad:

P.S. Don’t forget to follow the blog if you want to hear more of Claire’s exploits!

_____________________________________________________________________________

The buzzer echoed through the apartment, dragging Claire from a horrible dream. She had been standing alone in a room of twenty beds, her hair lank and unwashed, her clothes creased and dirty. Shaking away the awful image, Claire looked at the clock and swore.

9.30am? What the…?

Claire carefully sat upright, fighting against the spinning room, and realised she was already dressed. A thumping in her head reminded her of the empty champagne bottle sitting alone on the kitchen counter. The buzzer rang again, more urgently. Damn it, the removals guys aren’t meant to get here until 10am. She walked to the door without fully opening her eyes, then pushed her mane of chestnut hair away from her face so she could locate the intercom button.

“Yes?”

“Here to swap the car love, haven’t got all day, I’m parked on a yellow.”

Claire had forgotten Carl’s comment about her being provided with a more appropriate car. Oh well, best go and get it over with, see what they’ve decided is fitting. She grabbed her keys and let herself out of the apartment, determined not to be upset by this latest ploy of Carl’s to make her quit.

She shouldered open the heavy front door and was immediately faced with a man in blue overalls leaning against the lamppost outside her apartment.

“Miss Carleton?”

“That’s me.”

“Here to collect your company car and drop you a replacement.” The man looked around, trying to work out which car was hers.

Reluctantly Claire gestured at her charcoal-grey Audi, parked several cars down from her front door. The man whistled when he saw it and pushed himself away from the lamppost, revealing a tatty old car behind him.

“Blimey love whose front porch did you piss on? That’s a spanking motor to be swapping for this heap of crap. Think you’ll find this baby handles a bit differently. It’s got gears for a start, and a manual choke.”

Claire looked at the rusty box on the road in front of her and wondered what she had done to make Carl hate her so much. The courier’s words washed over her as phrases like “brake horse power” and “pisses out oil” made no sense and were therefore dismissed. The phrase “alloy wheels” permeated the fog of her hangover and she turned to face the man, a spark of interest in her eyes.

“Alloy wheels? That’s good right? My Audi has alloy wheels.” She looked again at the car parked outside her flat, as if hoping to discover it had transformed into something she might be seen dead in.

The man gave her the kind of smile he’d give an eager toddler. “Yes, love, generally alloys are nice to have. Not great on a Skoda though, especially one this old. Just makes the tyres leak. You’ll spend a chunk of time and cash getting them resealed and refilled every time you get a flat.”

Hope died in Claire’s heart. She wouldn’t even know where to take a car to have the tyres sealed and filled, whatever that meant. If something went wrong with the company car she told Julia and a man collected it, leaving her an equivalent courtesy car.

Claire watched mutely as the man walked to the rear of the car and gestured that he wanted to show her something in the boot. Puzzled, Claire went to stand by him and saw what she guessed was the engine. Thank god he showed me that, I’d have looked like an idiot trying to put my bag in there. She tried to follow the rest of what the man was saying as it seemed important but, as she’d always had her cars serviced, Claire had no idea why she would need to know where the oil and water went or what a dipstick was. It sounded rude in any case.

At last the man was gone, driving away in her beloved Audi and leaving her with – Claire consulted the piece of paper hanging from her nerveless hand – a Dove Grey Manual 5-gear Skoda Estelle. Looks like a poo-coloured box on wheels to me. Claire fought the urge to sob as she crumpled the piece of paper and stalked back into her flat. With any luck someone would notice it was parked on a yellow and tow it away.

A sudden desire to open her laptop and search for flights to the Maldives was interrupted by the shrill call of the buzzer. Damn thing’s rung more this morning than it has since New Year Claire thought as she pressed the intercom.

“Did you make a mistake, are you taking that pile of shit away?” Claire’s voice rang like struck steel.

“Well Miss, if that’s how you see your possessions it’s not for us to comment. Removals, Miss, come to collect your boxes.”

Claire leant her head against the cool of the front door and prayed for the day to be over.

***

Related articles

• Project Life 365 Days 1-8 (fromtheinsideoutblog.com)