I HAD ONE OF THOSE #1 Triumph Herald

 EIGHTEEN AND HORMONALLY STRICKEN

Eighteen, hormonal, virgin drivers license and, no money.

The last six years spent salivating, dreaming and pouring over every car magazine known to spotty youth, Ferraris, Porsches, Mercedes, MG’s and all things exotic.  Still no money.

Dad, that bloke who wouldn’t let me take the company car for a cobweb blowing spin on getting said license, did indeed save my teenage ego by offering to buy my first car.  One of my friends had a Humber Snipe and another had been given an almost new Holden Palais.  I suggested anything with a soft top of British origin would be acceptable.  Names like MG and Healy were subtly dropped in polite conversation whilst he who had the money was spruiking solid, dependable, staid, sedan, cheap bits and reliable.  It was an interesting dichotomous non-debate.

Then the moment of glory came.  Off we tootled down to a Mentone car yard.  Me in the passenger’s seat with elbow out the window trying to look cool and make up for the ignominy of actually being driven by my father when it was obvious to anyone, I was a driver!

Then, the moment. I was presented with an off-white British two door sport-ish Triumph Herald.  What happened to the Healy, the MG, the TVR,  I was beside myself with horror, joy, envy, gutted, excited and all feelings teenage.  But it was mine – let me repeat that – mine!

No more begging for the company car, no more being locked away with no wheels and no more shame.  I was eighteen plus one day.  I had suffered a whole day.

But, finally, in the mainstream of life with my very own car.  Being 18, a boy and suffering manifestly latent maturity I decided to remove the roof to create a convertible except it wasn’t really a convertible because there was no soft-top.  Therefore when it rained I had three choices – firstly use an umbrella [note to self - holding an umbrella over head whilst driving is a real bugger], secondly drive like crazy to get home to bolt the roof back on or hide out in a service station.  Several umbrellas later, accusations of loitering and traffic lights stopping the drive like crazy bit, all resulted in yet another soaking.  Not very alluring to the opposite gender me thought.

So to remedy the alluring conundrum, I needed a real convertible with an actual folding roof.

[1 of 27 vignettes trolled from a history of cars owned and driven]

I HAD ONE OF THOSE - #16 VW beetle

THE FLUFFY DUCK 

Quite a few years ago I was minding my own business in a Porsche 911 going way way too fast near the Queensland border.  Unfortunately, and unbeknown to me, I was being tracked by a police plane which resulted in me buying a push bike.  In order to keep within the law I [after license replacement] bought a 1958 VW beetle which would only do 103kmph down hill with a tailwind.  This was a ‘fun’ car and semi indestructible.  Named the 'fluffy duck' by a service station attendant primarily because he was yellow. Indeed, the kids could play havoc on the back vinyl bench whilst I concentrated on finding gears with the too floppy gearstick.  Sometimes, any gear would do!  The front window 1/4 vents also proved invaluable to move vast quantities of air from the front seats backwards over very smelly kids who unfortunately thought passing wind was a national sport.  Indeed, it even had a surfboard on the roof – permanently of course as actually using same was never a sane plan. Inside, there was always a pseudo sand pit growing from lots of sandy feet but fortunately, the area was self cleaning as rust had managed to provide drain holes / air vents through which sand cascaded and small items of excruciating kids importance disappeared forever.  Indeed, no point in macho drags at traffic lights as the car taught and demanded humility, acquiescence and mind numbing patience.  Eventually I sold it to the local policeman and bought a Ferrari but in hindsight, the beetle was far more fun! 

[1 of 27 vignettes trolled from a history of cars owned and driven]

AT 75 [BUGGER]

 

Denial is rife and even basic acceptance is ignored. 75?  No way bucko - I was only 25 yesterday or was that 50 years ago?

I am told to retire?  ‘Retire’ is a foreign state of mind which implies we are now unable and/or incapable of actually contributing to life but preferring to languish in self pity because we are now officially old.  What bullshit!  I retired-ish 20 years ago but that didn’t work as I was champing at the bit to do something constructive and meaningful, not just gawk around the planet at ‘stuff’.  Indeed after just 6 months of ‘stuff’ I was back on the saddle!

We have seen a lot of ‘stuff’ over the years and for this we are very grateful but, it’s no substitute for doing something which others appreciate and tell you so.  Smiles all round.

Some call this ‘work’ but I call it life affirming. 

FOMO AND THE STUPID CLASS

 

For an afternoons entertainment park yourself near a tram stop and watch people’s behaviour with mobile phones.  Step off the tram and not a second goes by until the mobile is whipped out and held in front of an expectant face at a constant viewing angle just in case there may be a life affirming message.  ‘Look at me look at me as i am so important I have to be on constant communication.  Then the real gymnastics start when walking is added to the mobile activity albeit all the while with phone at the ready  - FOMO is alive and well and is disarming and possibly dangerous.

IN THE FAST LANE

 

I want to congratulate all those drivers who stick to the so called ‘fast’ albeit congested inside lane on a two lane road.  Why? Because it leaves the left ‘slow outside’ passing lane uncongested just for me.  I suppose I should also thank all the parents teaching their offspring to always stick to that congested fast lane and the driving instructors who exacerbate this habit.  A good healthy dose of self entitlement drives [pun intended – sorry] their fierce determination to always be in the fast inside lane despite an empty faster lane right next to them. ‘Look at me, I’m in my fast lane asserting my rights.’  Please, let there be police who fine drivers by and through a mandatory advanced driver course for inappropriately sticking to the inside lane.