Thursday, 5 June 2014


I changed my car a couple of weeks ago. I simply couldn't handle a leaky old Clio that grew mushrooms in the footwell (seriously) and needed repairs every other week any longer. And considering how much it cost me to keep going at the start of the year, my bank manager wasn't best pleased either.

So now, rather than an elderly blue Clio, I'm driving around in a much cleaner (for now at least), Citroen in "Shark Grey". I sought a bit of help from the internet in order to name the car, but unfortunately all the sensible, and less sensible, names suggested by my friends have been overruled by Squeaky, who has decided in her infinite wisdom that my car should be named "Mr Grey". And greeted at the top of her voice at every opportunity.
Mr Grey, apparently

I can feel the disapproving looks on the back of my neck from complete strangers, and I haven't even read those blooming books, nor do I plan to. They don't realise that if I'd bought a red car, it'd be Mr Red, a blue car would've been Mr Blue, and a white car would've been filthy.  Instead I have a car named after an S&M fan, and am mortified every time I park outside school.

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