There have been occasions when people have looked at my car in disgust, WRINKLED THEIR NOSES and muttered to their partner loudly about petrol fumes. I’m glad to say that they are the exception.
Most of the time I, or I should say she, gets wide smiles, and lots of pointing fingers, as she rumbles past.
If we see another Beetle approaching, then all hell breaks loose as I simultaneously try to pull out and push in the button for the lights (which always makes me feel like I am, in fact, piloting an aircraft) and wave manically all at the same time. Driving to Newquay one summer was quite entertaining.
I’m not taking credit for it but I do believe that she’s a genuine joy-giver (apart from to the couple we met at Sainsbury’s car park – see first sentence – sorry to you guys) … right down to the rusty bags under her headlight eyes.
Sometimes I wonder how much longer she will last. She roars like a lion but that rust, well it’s pretty rusty. I wonder about having her fixed up (spared no expense) and hiring her out as a wedding car (to cover expense.) But I can’t quite see her with a ribbon around her front.
Or me in a chauffeur’s hat.
But if it means extending her lovely life …