Personal

Goodbye, old friend

It was a sad day today. The time had finally come to say goodbye to my old, trusty but rather rusty Rover 214.

Not high on the glamour stakes, the old thing cost me 800 quid three years ago and bar a couple of minor mechanical issues (new clutch, new bits of exhaust, new battery on the day I picked it up) it's been cheap to run and safe to drive. Two years of living in a coastal town, however, were enough to turn the once sound, shiny paintwork into a mass of acne-scarred rust bubbles, and sure enough time took its toll. The crunch point came just a few months ago when Pab discovered that turning the steering onto lock once parked, a safe and indeed commendable move in 99.9% of all other vehicles on the road, caused the steering column to seize. We discussed scrapping it on the journey home, sitting in the breakdown truck.

So it's come to this. Two careful owners, 101 000 miles on the clock, a long way from its original home in York, rusty, with moss growing in the windows and suffering from a flat battery and worn brake drums. Uneconomical to fix, it's worth practically nothing, but it's full of good memories: driving to Woodbridge for the first time, pootling around Dorset in the sunshine, driving in snow in Wales. My companion on countless stressful or fun journeys, and known fondly as Robert, I'm sorry to see it go.