BLINKY, THE WONDER CAR

“Blinky, the wonder car” has been in hospital. Blinky woke up one morning earlier this week feeling a little “throaty” and in the evening, when it became obvious that it wasn’t just the damp of the dawn, but something more troublesome, a quick jaunt to the garage seemed a sensible option to consider, despite the fact that little pound signs seem to light up in the mechanics’ eyes whenever I walk through the door these days, as if I’ve sorted their next holiday funding issues at a stroke.

Still, the chugging and grinding didn’t sound too healthy, and there was always the possibility that something catastrophic was an imminent prospect, so off I toddled and, as I pulled up, there was an immediate knowing look from one of the mechanics.

“You got an exhaust problem, then?”

So I guess that was what I – or rather Blinky – had. There was a moment of relief that it wasn’t likely to be something mechanically much worse, tempered by the obvious problem that this was still a job that needed to be done and the credit card was already whimpering and trying to shuffle around and hide itself in a dark corner of my wallet where I wouldn’t be able to find it.

I went into the office to talk to the owner of the garage in order to book Blinky’s appointment for transplant surgery and a well-groomed chap was already in there talking to him, just finishing off a little chat before departing. The mechanic, the owner and myself watched him go.

“That’s the accountant,” said the owner.

“I’ll bet his car runs well,” I replied.

This at least made them both laugh, which was nice. I do sometimes struggle to make small talk with mechanics, plumbers, electricians and the like. I think it’s because I think they think I must be some sort of idiot for not being able to do these things myself and then I seem to get intimidated by their competence at something so practical, which can however utterly bamboozle me. Maybe they were just humouring me, or maybe they just weren’t really paying attention as they were being distracted by those lovely, glowing pound signs.

Blinky and I have been together now for over seven years, which I think might just be the longest relationship I’ve ever had with any car. Blinky got the name because for some reason it seldom seems to have every single one of its bulbs working for any length of time, so I always seem to be replacing one or other of them. I suppose that “Winky” might be slightly more appropriate, but “Winky the wonder car” just sounds slightly wrong to me. “The wonder car” bit comes from “I wonder quite how it keeps going,” in case you hadn’t guessed.

It really was also the natural name to give it, following on from my previous two cars, which had been dubbed “Clunky” and “Clunky 2” by someone in the office where I used to work. These were the two red Volvos that I had during the time I worked there. I’ve never been in a position to own a new car, so they were the last in a long line of cheapish vehicles I’ve owned that possibly cost more to repair over the years than they ever were to buy.

The first car I ever had was an electric-blue Ford Escort of 1974 vintage that my dad bought for me after I passed my test and which went like a rocket, could be opened using a half-pence piece, and didn’t seem to have proper brakes on the right hand side which ultimately led in some small part to its untimely demise a scant seven months later. Slightly before that happened, my dad said one day that he really wouldn’t mind if I wanted to sell it and buy an MG or something, which I always put down to a tiny bit of wishful thinking on his part.

After that I had a rather excellent relationship with a trusty old dark blue MkIII Cortina for nearly five years that had to be let go when my post-educational unemployment meant I couldn’t afford to have it repaired. There’s one just like it that features regularly in “The Sweeney” which always raises a fond thought. My sister persuaded me into buying a ridiculously jacked-up beige Capri with a brown vinyl roof shortly after that, which got its door caved in by a hit-and-run pranger when it was parked outside a friend’s house the very same week I got it, and after buying new doors from the scrapyard, was returned to my sister for “repair” and I never saw it again.

When I finally got a job, I bought another Cortina, this time in a ridiculous shade of what I like to call “orange” but which a lot of people referred to as “salmon pink”. That served me well for a couple of years, but engine troubles had it taken away for repair and it too was never seen again.

Then came the “car share” years driving a Diamond White Fiesta that belonged to a certain someone who took the car away with her when she departed. That is a long and unpleasant story which I know has you just bubbling with anticipation to hear about, but which I’m not entirely sure I’m quite ready to share just yet.

Still, from that emotional crisis were born the Scirocco years. Four and a half years of pure joy and extortionate parts bills ended with rather brilliant timing by a Dutch lorry driver who caved in another door when he pulled across two lanes on an “A” road one evening when I was driving home from work about a week before I was due to move out of my flat. His steering wheel being on the “wrong” side meant he didn’t check his mirrors and didn’t see me in the lane alongside him. Tragically whilst the damage only seemed slight – some scrapes and a massive dent in the passenger door – the insurance folk deemed it to be a “write off”  - doors apparently costing more than the car was worth, they said - after they’d taken it away for repair and it too was never seen again.

Soon after that my sister persuaded me to buy one of her then current boyfriend’s used cars, so I acquired a huge, gas-guzzling, metallic-blue Rover 2600 fastback on which the driver’s door immediately broke and jammed permanently shut about a day after I got it and which catastrophically and permanently died three months after that. I was very happy to see that one taken away and never seen again, you can be sure of that.

I had part shares in a golden diesel Fiesta for a little while after that, a situation that came to an end in even more unfortunate circumstances. My car sharing experiences were always destined to involve Fiestas, it would seem. Then there were the two Clunkies and we’re back up to date with Blinky.

Eleven cars, across nearly thirty years, each of which had a tale to tell.

Of course there are those who would dislike Blinky on sight, just because it’s a four-wheel drive machine, albeit not a huge one. I live at the top of a semi-rural hill that can get wickedly icy in the middle of winter so, whilst I might feel the odd pang of guilt on the odd summer’s day, for quite a few days of an average winter it becomes a rather vital thing to have and I remain unrepentant at having it, and it is the only car we have. I sometimes worry when I have to leave it parked in the city because I’ve heard about people attacking 4x4s just for being what they are. I find myself wondering, “How on Earth do they know where I live?” when I leave it parked and go shopping, but I suppose the consequences of most forms of extremism are seldom completely thought through.

But despite everything, so far, Blinky prevails. Another bill for the quite bizarre amount of £197.19 sits in the receipts box and adds to the overdraft. I think I’d’ve rounded it up or knocked off the 19p, but then there is that accountant to think about. I guess it’s still cheaper than replacing Blinky though, and I like to think that keeping the old thing on the road is generally more environmentally friendly than just scrapping it, when you consider the carbon footprint of building Blinky in the first place and equally what it might be to build another Blinky, and anyway, it's Blinky. How could you scrap Blinky? We've been through such a lot, I'm not sure if I could.

So, here's to you, Blinky! This is a kind of post-operative "get well" message to you. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be together, but for now, Blinky, I'm happy enough in your company, and I hope you're happy in mine, and that’s just the way I'd like to keep it.