My car has just had its MoT. £651 it cost. New exhaust, new brake pipes, new tyres, new brake pads and discs, new summat or other. New stuff I have to nod to and agree to do, while cursing my inability to know if I’m being ripped off. Despite feeling rather queasy handing over my debit card while mentally putting one of my kidneys on eBay, my car is worth every penny.
Now I know I’ve blogged about my car before. About cleaning it, so you know it’s a big part of my life.
We call it the workhorse, as quite frankly it is.
But it is at times my sanity as a mum. Public transport, good for the environment, better for pollution. When it comes to my car, I’m afraid I say fuck the pandas, I need the independence.
Like today. Rainy afternoon.
We’ve done the park. Quite frankly in the last few weeks we’ve done that bloody park to death. Slide. Yup, we’ve been on it. Swings. Yup I’ve pushed them. I’ve also put a child in, taken a child out, put a baby in, taken a baby out. Then repeated within three minutes. I’ve also done the “don’t run and jump in the puddle as you haven’t got wellies on” game a lot.
So the thought of another trip to the park today just wasn’t cutting it, and I had one of those mum moments when I just needed to get out. Hurrah for abusing the overdraft and being able to use the car.
It wasn’t the trip of the century, we took stuff to the charity shop, compost to the allotment (I joke not) and popped in the shop for nappies. But for the kids, it broke the monotony. And for me – it was just the break we needed.
Ten-year-old Vauxhall Zafira I salute you, you great big work horse you.
Photo: my daughter splashing in the puddles