Every homo sapiens needs an outbuilding within the curtelage of their property
Welcome...to my Shed!
Today I got a moving letter, a melancholy-inducing epistle that made my bottom lip wobble and the corners of my eyes dampen:
Certificate of DESTRUCTION?!
Having enjoyed a week of low-to-the-ground, regular Estate car comfort (and a couple of forgetting-it’s-an-Automatic moments), the final Fate of my faithful MPV had evaporated from my thoughts until the stark, cold truth of the letter. The Bloody Fine Motor (BFM) saw me through five years and 130,000 miles: Wales (all over), Yorkshire and Europe. Choosing NOT to invest more £££ in finding out what had broken it was, so it seems, a very wise move; it was beyond even palliative care! Arthur and I had solemnly emptied the boot, the glove-box, the door pockets and cubby holes, the coin tray and the secret security chambers before giving it an affectionate pat and leaving it in the Lot at the garage. That was the last time we would see it alive...