On Monday my 20 year old Volvo passed its MOT and yesterday I passed my annual medical subject to the blood test revealing anything untoward. Cars have never interested me. I recall my dear old dad, who was forever changing cars till he bought a Bentley Continental and stuck with Bentleys for the rest of his life, saying I was the type to get a Volvo and stick with it.
We once went to the theatre and sat behind the Volvo Car Appreciation Group. “I am surprised they are not wearing seat belts” my dad observed.
Anyway 20 years old and few miles now on the clock the old boy passed the test. A sleek limo or state of the art SUV is not for Tickler.
I cannot bear the depreciation as it leaves the showroom or remains undriven in the garage. My Volvo is fit for purpose for the weekly shop and journey to the adult learning centre even if I don’t cut a dash in it.
My annual medical takes some 40 minutes. We run through any issues I may have which the good doctor invariably attributes to old age, my medication, blood pressure – and here is the bit I don’t like – weight.
They always say the definition of an alcoholic is someone that drinks more than his doctor and mine enjoys a tipple. So rather than any strictures on giving up the sauce he enthused over some local artisan gin called Tomcat and a locally brewed ale.
On returning to Tickler Towers I poured myself a generous measure of same and duly drank to my health and that of my Volvo.