The car's no longer the star (From Bradford Telegraph and Argus)

The car's no longer the star

8:40am Monday 7th July 2008 in Leisure By Telegraph & Argus

The Scribbler was to be found this fine Saturday morning with a tub of Turtle Wax in one hand and a lint-free cloth in the other, lovingly polishing the offside wing of his beloved Austin Gearcruncher Mark IV. The motor was of a certain age, as they say about women, and like a woman of a certain age it needed careful handling, thought The Scribbler. In fact, it was a certain woman of a certain age he was thinking about when he made this rather tortuous analogy in his head, none other than the fragrant women’s editor of the T&A, Thelma Gusset (pronounced “Gussay”).

Not only was careful handling required, considered The Scribbler, but as with cars, women cost a great deal more to run these days than they used to. When he’d first bought the Gearcruncher, he could fill it up, have a run out to the seaside, purchase a couple of bags of chips and a candy floss, have a go on the Waltzer and be back home with change from a pound in his pocket. Similarly, when he first began courting, round about the same time he’d picked up the Gearcruncher, a night out with a lass would only cost you a couple of glasses of Mackeson and a fish buttie – well, it would with the sort of women he hung about with, such as Calderbank’s Sister, who would not only do anything for a fish buttie she would give you tuppence change as well. Nowadays it was all gastropubs and overpriced flowers, taxis and five star hotels.

The Scribbler sighed. Like the Gearcruncher, he supposed Thelma had a few fair miles on the clock, so -- once again, like the Gearcruncher -- she needed a bit of tender loving care.

Thelma was also, he opined, well upholstered, quite well inflated and liked a bit of warming up in the morning before she went any great distance.

And here she came now, bearing a cup of tea on a floral tray for him. “Scribs,” she said. “You’ve been polishing that for so long you’re going to go right through it. Why the sudden interest in the old banger again?”

“I was thinking of putting her in for the Bradford Classic Car Show next weekend,” said your humble columnist.

Thelma couldn’t help but laugh. “This old thing? It’s hardly a classic.”

“She is!” retorted The Scribbler. “They don’t make ’em like this any more.”

“There’s a reason for that,” said Thelma. “Several reasons. You know, I think you should get rid. Get a new car.”

“Get a new car!” said The Scribbler, horrified. She might as well say he should turn her in and get himself hooked up with some dollybird.

“Yes, I’ve been looking at the ads,” said Thelma. “With all this credit crunch, some places are doing really good deals to get people in. We could probably pick up a nice people carrier or something.”

So it had come to this. The Austin Gearcruncher, symbol of his youth and freedom, was to be no more. Traded in for a jellymould on wheels. Thelma handed him the T&A. “Have a look in there, see what you fancy,” she said.

He did, but before he got to the motors section a story caught his eye. It was about a pair of mates who were embarking on a road trip across the Sahara desert.

“How much do you think the Austin’s worth?” he said casually.

Thelma shrugged. “Hundred and fifty, not much more. Enough for a deposit.”

“Perfect!” said The Scribbler. “It says here that you can only do this rally in old bangers worth no more than £150.”

“Do what?” said Thelma.

“Pack your bags, lass,” announced The Scribbler. “We’re having one last adventure in the old girl before we put her out to pasture...”