Monday, 15 March 2010

More Memories From 1979


My dad changed his car this year. I went with him to look at a Ford Cortina Mk 3. Other than the Ford Capri, this was my favourite looking car at the time. I was very pleased and proud at being thought grown up enough by my dad to go and examine the car with him and help him decide.
We arrived and there was the car. It was sleek with its coke bottle lines in a mustard colour with brown vinyl roof. I wandered around the car, a little concerned about the wing that was hanging off, the two back wheels that were almost worn through. You could actually see metal showing through each tyre and from the edge of each tyre-wall to almost a third of the way across the tyre it was as smooth as a babies arse. There was a small crack in the windscreen that would have tested even Gavin from autowhateverwindscreens and generally copious amounts of rust emanating from every part of the car. The technical term for a car like this used to be, ‘a rust bucket’.

“Bri, look at this stereo system, it has a cassette player!” yelled my dad, clearly excited and almost jumping up and down at the prospect of being able to insert a tape into the hole under the radio. Have you ever seen a eight year old suddenly be taken to toys-r-us and given £100 to spend. They appear to be on the verge of epilepsy at the sheer joy of what they are about to buy as they convulse and almost appear to orgasm standing up. This was how my dad was reacting to the sheer ecstasy at being able to play C90's.
I swear his toes were curled up over the front of his Jesus sandals, but the grey socks were making it hard to tell.

I ushered my dad over and away from the owner and while patting him on the back to calm him down, pointed out to him the crack, tyres, rust and lack of wing.
“But it has a tape system”.
He bought the car. The first time he inserted a tape it chewed it up. The tape never worked but then again, neither did the car.

1 comment:

  1. I'm reminded also of the bending bookshelves that could bear the weight of precisely one Scorcher annual. Eventually he mastered D.I.Y. and, before you could say 'Handy Andy', we had fake medieval beams hovering precariously over the plastic Adams fireplace, all so tasteful and in-keeping inside the 70's concrete council house, like a feature in Homes and Gardens.

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