Morphing into The Griswolds - Part One

Although my last blog post may have appeared to be nothing more then a blatant attempt to get Nissan to loan me a new Murano for twelve months, it actually had another far greater purpose. That was to provide you with a small insight into the differences between my car and The Coach's car. I must admit, I went a little off track when I started daydreaming about a new Murano, but the main point was to help you to understand that while my car receives regular..ish services, water and oil top ups, and even the odd wash, The Coach's car is surviving on a lean diet of neglect.

Sure it gets a clean out perhaps once every twelve months, which interestingly seems to coincide with a relative coming to visit, a relative who The Coach has to collect from the airport. It also receives the odd service, usually around the time that The Coach can no longer hear his talk back radio program over the cars determined protests which present as various grinding and squealing noises. Quite frankly, if that car was Kitt from Knight Rider, I imagine that it would have quite a mouthful of expletives that it would like to share with The Coach before self activating the eject button and launching The Coach through the sun roof.

This brings me to the clutch cable episode. Actually it wasn't so much an episode but more of a trailer. The clutch cable broke and The Coach was forced, no doubt muttering expletives of his own, to take the car to the mechanic to get it repaired. Seems pretty straight forward no ?

Now see, this is where The Coach and I really become polar opposites. The Coach returned home in the evening and I asked how the car was.

"I'm not happy with it," he replied "The clutch cable is too loose and it doesn't feel right."

"So why didn't you tell the mechanic?" I responded curiously.

"Something about the cost of pygmy hippos and the growth cycles of turnips." he answered. Well at least that's what I think he said, as he was sort of muttering and walking into the bathroom shaking his head.

And that is how it came to pass that for the last twelve months The Coach has been driving around in a car with a touchy, loose clutch cable. He is now used to the quirky clutch. He has also mastered the art of peering around the crack in the windscreen. He ignores the rattle and crunch that occurs every time he steers around a corner and he is virtually oblivious to the dings in the front, sides, back and roof (yes, we are all rather mystified by the ding in the roof).

Then recently we decided, after thirteen long years, to take a holiday to Noosa. We would require the use of my car. My Mother-in-Law, Nanny B, was going to need a car to ferry the kids to school in our absence, and although I was almost blinded by the neon warning signs flashing before my eyes, I succumbed to The Coach when he insisted,

"Don't worry about mum. She'll be fine using my car."

Oh ho ho, famous last words.....to be continued......