This is just making me reminisce and feel nostalgic about the beautiful French ladies who have been in my life.
My father owns a beguiling orange Peugeot 504. I spent a good deal of my childhood sitting in the back seat and have also had the pleasure of taking it on a trip from Adelaide to Sydney and back. The first 504 was made in 1968 and due to its popularity and reliability the last one was made under licensed production way later in 2006! They're beautiful and sturdy and reliable and just simply brilliant.
My first (and as yet, only) car bought by me and for me was a cute little avocado-green Renault 12 sedan which set me back 200AUD (a friend bought a Renault 12 station-wagon from the same guy for 35 bucks and it trooped on for a whole three months!). She was very pretty and I adored her. Her vinyl upholstery looked untouched and she was a pleasure to drive. The doors wouldn't lock and she had a little rust but the fuel economy was great, plus she smelled tremendous!
I sold her to a friend for 300AUD who was moving to Sydney and we (3 big men) drove her fully-laden with my friend's gear all the way there (driving through Sydney's South-Western suburbs we pulled up at the lights and a car-full of Lebanese whipper-snappers yelled 'sick mate, you lowered it!!'). The poor French girl who was built for a mild European climate almost overheated en-route and we had to drive the whole 1,500 odd kilometres with the heater on full-blast, our half-naked bodies sticking to the vinyl, the radio amplifying the revs of the engine....but we were extraordinarily happy and it was much more fun than a road-trip with the smooth, quiet, air-conditioned ride of a new-fangled automobile with DVD screens and drink-coolers.
We nicknamed her 'Ješka' and wrote a song about her which we performed once on stage while hungover as hell. She kept on keeping on for another two years or so in the care of my good friend.
She drew her last breath while attempting to freight kegs of home-made ale from Sydney to Adelaide for some ethnic festival. My friend snatched her badge for memory's sake and I believe she's resting peacefully somewhere in Gundagai. She served us well and I miss her dearly.
The car which I was driving before hiking my arse over to Latvia was a grey manual Peugeot 505 my Dad bought for my brother and me. It's an old car but it had electric windows, power steering, and air-conditioning. I loved driving her around and I would often, if not always, take the long route anywhere just so I could saviour the simple pleasure of driving for driving's sake. I miss her too, and hope she'll still be there when, or if, I get back.
I have this feeling in my stomach which is similar to dread. I get it when I stupidly worry that while I'm away everyone is thrashing out my favourite op-shops, and I'm getting it now because I want to make sure I grow old with another gorgeous French girl in my life...it'll be okay, I hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment