Running In - Please Pass

Imagine with beard + overalls

Last week my car became due for its first proper service.  Not one of the silly intermittent one - which seems to be little more than an oil change and a flannel swiped round the privates.  For these I've been taking it to the dealership, in a scaredy-cat-not-wanting-to-risk-the-warranty's-validity way.  It's now out of warranty, but the dealership contacted me, so I asked for a quote anyway.

When they told me the price, I laughed, and then retched, and then laughed again.  Then I rang the local garage up the road.  I told the chief mechanic what the dealership had quoted me and he laughed drily.  'They would, wouldn't they?' he dead-panned, like a bearded Mandy Rice-Davies.

And with that, I woke from my dealership enchantment, slashed my way out of the forest of complimentary key fobs and showroom Nespresso, and came to my senses.  Back where I belong, in the garage up the road, where nobody raises an eyebrow at the tooth I've lost from my front grille, or the scuffs on my wheel arches.  Was going to get these fixed, but quite frankly they're the only thing that stops my car looking like Noddy's runaround.  Know who you are.  Know where you belong.

Anyway, I'm back.  And the title of this post is not actually about my car, but more about this blog.  I've been SORN for a long time - there's rust on my brake discs, corrosion on my exhaust system and a great deal of bird shit on my bonnet.

Nothing that a road trip and a flannel can't sort.

Good to be back.