Rust Box

My first car was a maroon Hillman Avenger, like the one pictured. It was the most unreliable piece of machinery. It was nothing but trouble. 

Rust Box

A wheel at each corner held together with hope and a prayer

A rust box disintegrating faster than I lost my hair

In rain hale snow it never wanted to go

Reluctant as a Yorkshireman paying for a beer

A constant battle to keep straight and steer

Gripping hard, knuckles so white

Muscles flexed to turn it right

It rattled and rolled it jangled my change

Fragile nerves it would rearrange

Building up speed like a granny at a zimmer

It’s wafer thin tyres couldn’t get much thinner

Coppers would stop and beg me , go quicker

Ignoring on my lap the bottle of liquor

Handling on ice was almost obscene

Pirouetting faster than Torvill and Dean

A challenge a gradient greater than one percent

Was like being covered in treacle and buried in cement 

But when the road fell away and faced an abyss

I would kiss St Chris and emit some piss.

Plastic seats sweaty and sticky

Couldn’t extricate bum after a quickie

My heroes were my friends at AA

Driven to drink trying to get it to play

Looking back the bloody thing sucked

It should have given me my freedom

But it was totally fucked. 


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