Scream if you wanna go faster

By: pixbyshumbles

Apr 17 2012

Category: April 2012

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Being a passenger in my car is, according to the NCT (National Car Test for those not au fait with the term), dicing with death.

Yes’m, as you can see from the photo above the beloved Corolla achieved an F-grade yesterday. Just like its owner’s frequent Maths tests of the past.

I wouldn’t mind but I had … okay, okay, I can’t lie, The Brazilian had lavished love and attention onto it to get it just so.

It was vacuumed. Who knew a car could harbour so much dog hair.

It was dusted. The steering wheel is much more responsive since the inch of dust has been blown off.

It had a nip n’ tuck with the mechanic and it got new tyres.

Last but not least, of course, was the professionally executed car wash. Not the usual spit and shine it normally gets. Nope, it was gleaming, pristine.

You could eat your dinner off it.

Off I traipsed first thing Monday morning to be greeted by a stern face at the test centre.

It’s a bit like, I imagine, being a 1960s dad pacing up and down outside the labour ward while the little woman gives birth (apparently men were excused from the blood n’ gore n’ pooh of births yesteryear). I could see my car being mauled, manhandled and scrutinised by men in nylon overalls.

Full sure that I was going to pass I took glee in the anecdotes of my fellow nervous patients in the room. Did you hear the one about the fella whose car was condemned?

Can you condemn a car? Impound, maybe?


And then, way too soon yer man in the overalls come back and calls me to the booth. Y’see, the test is supposed to take 30 minutes. Mine took a little over ten. It was either very good and I was getting a gold star and a pat on the back for having such a wonderfully kept vehhhicle. Or it was very bad.

“Your brakes are down to the shteel, I can’t pass that”.

Ah. Right. Sorry ’bout that.

Another €28 for a re-test.

Just great. There goes my plan to trim the hedge on my head.

New brake pads it is then. Still, I suppose it’ll be a novelty for my passengers that they don’t lose consciousness from the G-Force of me applying the brakes.

Maybe that’s what Geri Halliwell was singing about …


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