At last I know what that strange rattling noise was. Two pence pieces. Oodles of them. And the dear old queen upon them has taken on a verdigris tinge as a consequence of being deposited and forgotten in the murkier recesses.
I’ve been clearing out the company car before handing it back to my erstwhile employers. To my credit, I’ve been pretty strict in my valeting regime, ensuring it’s had a good clean-up at least once a year - whether it needs it or not.
But this is a final goodbye. Journey’s end. The Focus was the last in a lineage of company vehicles to have carried me around Wales and beyond. An office on wheels.
More often than not, it seemed, it was a workplace that joined just a few others in opening for business at the side of the road at 5.30am, ahead of a 6am broadcast. Just me, the butcher, the baker and er... Actually, just the three of us.
On the roof would be the satellite dish, with all the reliability of a moody teenager. It would connect up if it felt like it. Or just have an extra hour of sleep. No doubt, in the gloom, it may have been a puzzling site. Once on the Pembrokeshire coast, as I prepared to go live, clinging to the dish to stop it being blown off the car, one passer-by shouted out: “What is it mate? Looking for drugs are you?”
I was puzzled but can only assume he had me down as an investigative customs hotshot. Not the first time someone has made that mistake to be fair.
Now, I’m no great petrol head. In fact my last few cars were diesels, delivered to me in the days when they were widely seen as some sort of eco-friendly option. How green we were.
I had no choice over its fuel or make but was given free rein to pick the colour from a rather limited range.
For the latest, I chose Iceberg Blue, though it turned out to rather bluer than I anticipated. On the plus side, it has to some degree reduced the hours spent marching round supermarket and multi storey car parks, hunting it down. Its grey predecessor was more elusive. A snow leopard of the automotive industry. The slate-hued backdrop of a typical south Wales day was the perfect habitat for its camouflage.
At the wheel, I’ve come a long way since my first days working at GWR Radio in Wiltshire. There, I had to take the office car home on a regular basis. Emblazoned on the doors was a garish logo that established that there was nothing flashy about being flashy. It also severely jeopardised any success at undercover work.
Since then a rather undistinguished fleet of vehicles has been entrusted to my care, as I balanced work and domestic life. I escorted the children first to nursery, then school, then university. What a day that was.
It’s been bumpy ride at times. My poor attention to detail once saw us marooned on a boulder, unable to move as we made a rather clumsy approach to Hardwick Hall National Trust home in Derbyshire. As we waited for help to arrive, I was rather more pleased with myself than I deserved, tweeting a picture with the accompanying text “Stuck between a rock and a Hardwick Place”. If I’d staged the incident on purpose, I couldn’t have wished for a more appropriate, if lame, tagline.
When in France, I returned to my parked Peugeot to find it had been relieved of its back lights by a passing Parisian. The light-fingered so and so, if you'll excuse my, um ..well you know the gag. With the help of the lease company, the replacement parts were ordered - from Ireland.
The relationship has become a little sporadic in recent years. I’ve been driving less, partly by accident (Covid restrictions), partly by design (cycling) but I do have a pang of regret at seeing the car go. I say “it”. Unlike my parents, I’ve never felt comfortable referring to any car as “she”. I’m the same with ships, though have never owned one. Not with our parking issues. Would be madness.
As I complete one final clear-out, the pockets of debris serve as a poignant reminder of where the two of us worked best in tandem. Bessemer Close waste tip (see photo above for happier times). The crackle of anticipation as the tip finally awoke from its lockdown slumber will live long in the memory.
So one final journey. Debris cleared. Memories stored away.
Time to go our separate ways.
Mirror, signal, manoeuvre.
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