Last week we got rid of our car.
We’ve had a long and tempestuous relationship, but like all the people or things you love, you take the rough with the smooth.
To quote Grace Kelly in High Society: “My she was yar”. She was instantly recognisable among a sea of other cars, either by her pert boot, that always overhung the space, or by her low, sleek bonnet, that had a permanent knowing smirk.
We got her second-hand from you guessed it, one careful lady owner. She was 2 years old.
One of her first outings was to the polo at Cowdray Park. As we parked up, she had not only driven us there like a Bentley, but held her own amongst all the genuine Bentleys.
She was always a “she”- a lady. Coincidentally, my best friend also has a Mercedes CL and they call theirs “The Duchess”, due to her haughty nature. She seems to be doing them a favour every time they go out. Ours was known as “The Teuton” somewhat ironically. German, she definitely was, but not in the stereotypical organised, reliable way: more in the bellowing Wagnerian way.
There was the time when we brought a friend back from the airport with us and as he got out of the car, he was left holding the door handle as a souvenir. The time she just stopped on a dual carriageway, in rush hour, in the dark and the rain, on my own…twice. The bulbs in the lights had to be replaced on a monthly basis; never the same one, necessitating a full on light show, till the culprit was identified.
Then there was the symphony of various warning noises that played randomly when we went over a bump. The time when our family was squashed into the back, on our way to Hastings on Christmas Eve and the back window suddenly exploded, showering them with thousands of pieces of glass. The fact that we baked every summer because the air conditioning gave up working years ago and the sunroof was jammed shut. In winter we froze, as the heating only kicked in when she’d worked up a head of speed. And of course the notorious A21 incident of a couple of weeks ago.
But there were also the great times. Her boot was so large that she moved us in and out of three restaurants and five flats and houses. Last summer she took a garden table and four chairs to my mother, for her eightieth birthday party. Every weekend, when we first started coming down from London eleven years ago, we packed her full with groceries and home comforts, such as good bread; this was long before the arrival of Richard and the Lazy Bakery.
She has the aesthetics of a sports car and drives like a limousine. She handles beautifully and parks like a dream despite her size. She’s solid and fast and safe; in twenty years we never had an accident. We do at least 150 miles a week and have clocked up about 200,000 in total. And one of the advantages of having such an old car is that you’re not precious about it. You can leave it anywhere without worrying, even though it doesn’t actually lock anymore; but no one knows that…until now.
Our garage in London told us years ago that she was a “Friday afternoon” model. We would cross all our fingers and toes every time she went for her MOT, but who would have thought that a broken boot lock would be her downfall.
There was a knack to opening the boot, which was only known to her nearest and dearest. In a bid to reach the battery, following our last break-down, the lock was forced. The cost to fix this, is about as much again as the cost of replacing the battery and the alternator. The Teuton without her boot is, well, just a knackered old banger; its value balanced out the extraordinary amounts of money we had to keep spending on her.
We couldn’t bring ourselves to scrap her. Sergio drove her home for the last time and she now sits on the drive, which we’ve nicknamed Valhalla. We’re overjoyed to see each other every morning, there’s comfort in familiarity, so we’ve put off the final decision for another day.
Before leaving, the garage had given us a piece of advice: “Never get attached to cars.” I found that very odd. It would be like me saying to you, order your dinner in my restaurant, but don’t enjoy it! I can measure my life in the memorable meals that I’ve had and now, for the last twenty years, in the fabulous, luxurious, nerve- wracking, unpredictable, crazy, adventures with The Teuton…
Image Credits: Natasha Robinson .