Thursday 19 May 2011


Getting my ancient Ka through its MOT is an annual worry; a bit like getting a recalcitrant child through its GCSEs. And of course it's largely my fault.

The driving world is divided into two kinds of people; those who look after cars, and those who don't. We don't.

We mean to. Of course we do. But after a couple of weeks with a "new" car, we lose interest. The moss builds up round the windows, the mud and straw accumulate on the floor, and the horse stuff builds up in the back. I'm not proud of this, and would like to be different, but there it is. However hard I try, I cannot make myself care about cars.

So when I took my little mud-splattered moss-covered friend in for its MOT today, I was not optimistic. The rear windscreen wiper had been immobilised, I'd found the spare tyre for £10 at a scrap yard, and something important-looking was dangling down from the car's innards. And those were just the things I knew about. I suspected that during surgery (or whatever it is they do) far worse things would come to light.

But it passed! Lovely Barb rang from the garage to tell me. Ok, apparently there are one or two things I need to be aware of; something is wearing down, and something else is a bit loose, and there's another thing which I've now forgotten. When these things reach their separate crises, I will have to get something done.

"How will I know?" I asked Barb, as she explained about each risky thing.
"There'll be a Noise," said Barb. "You'll know."

Barb speaks my language. I understand Noise. I shall listen out for it. But in the meantime, my little Ka and I are back on the road for another year


(Mine doesn't look at all like the one in the picture. I couldn't find a photo of a dirty navy blue one.)


  1. Glad your poor, wee neglected car made it through, Frances!

  2. Yay! MOT passed - brilliant. Your car sounds like my house.

    I hope you have noticed I have eased up on the exclamation marks and I am having withdrawal symptoms.

    Anna :o]

  3. I'm with you on this one, Frances. I've never washed a car in my life. I'd much rather be out on my bike.

  4. That must be a relief. (Our van is immaculate, but I can't take any credit for that)

  5. I love the fact you will know by the noise your car will make..i.e. 'Help, Mum I need looking at again!'

    I sometimes worry if I haven't got my radio on and I hear a noise.

    BTW my cars are always called 'Arthur'

  6. Thanks, Rosemary.

    Anna - exclamation marks are fine provided they're confined to exclamations! And in any case,it's my little fad. You certainly don't have to take any notice of it.

    Keith, I've never cleaned an oven, either.

    Patsy, congratulations on your immaculate van!

    Jarmara, why Arthur? And do you have Arthur 1, 11, 111 etc? As to the noise, I forgot to ask what kind of noise(s) I should expect. I shall have to wait and see...

  7. Ka drivers of the world unite. I love mine but like you don't look after it. Ours got through its test in March just needing a lightbulb replaced which Himself damaged when he got too close to the car in front one day.

  8. Because he's my knight-in-shining armour ;-) and never lets me down, Frances.

  9. Colette, it all goes to show that Kas thrive on neglect!

    Good name, Jarmara. My father was an Arthur.

  10. I'm not really a car person, as long as they get me from A to B I'm happy. But. Six weeks ago I exchanged my old faded red Corsa for a nice black Renault Clio, this car is my pride and joy. I've washed it four times since I got it...a first for me!
    I had horses too for years and one of my cars actuallly had grass growing from its trimmings from me always carting hay about!!

  11. Trust me, Akasha. In a couple of weeks you'll have got over the car washing thing. It's a phase. But enjoy it while it lasts!

  12. Thank Goodness someone else treats cars the way I do. As long as it goes from A to B I don't care what noises it makes, or what's under the bonnet.

  13. Perhaps it's another thing about writers, Dee. We've got better (higher?) things to think about (until, of course, we're stuck, as I once was, on the hard shoulder of the M3 courtesy of a newly-deceased clutch).