She drives me crazy

I’m back on two feet again, rather than the three or four of recent months. A particularly unhelpful doctor gave me the all clear to fling the crutches away (at least, into the plaster room) then off I was and true to form, the first thing we did upon my escape from the Whittington was to trawl the local charity shops. So from today I’m free to roam the earth as I wish, sit upstairs on a bus, and drive.

I can drive again, when I feel up to it. Yet here I am, pretty much decided to sound the death knell on my relationship with my little Peugeot. Back to university with a bit of luck in a couple of months, and sacrifices have to be made: this is the big one. I never wanted to be one of those characters like Dylan Moran in Shaun of the Dead who don’t have a car because it’s London, you don’t need one. Of course you don’t, it’s a nice luxury, he missed the point. Also what good is he in a zombie holocaust hmm? A car is a lovely thing to own, even in London where the drivers are impatient, the taxis violent, and the oik who crashes into you is uninsured. I love my car.

Yet total it up and what does it cost me? With tax, insurance, fuel, maintenance and the like, when we totalled up it came to an unbelievable three thousand plus pounds – and I can’t afford that where I’m going. So, it looks like the little one is on her way out, and public transport here I come! Wish me luck, and patience, and headphones and a good book.


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