We were supposed to find out about the car today. We have not, as yet, found out about the car. And given that the time is rapidly approaching 10pm, it’s unlikely we will find out.
That fills me with confidence.
We have, of course, made things more fun for ourselves in the Covid-filled world of car purchasing by choosing to not buy a car that was in stock at our local dealer. We have, instead, gone for one that was in Glasgow, and it needs to be transported down here first.
When we arranged this, last week, the guy from the dealership said it could take a week but they’ve generally been pretty quick about it.
Except in this case. When they have not been quick in the slightest. But, I suppose, you have to make it worthwhile and cost effective so maybe we’ve had to hang on to get some other cars from the Glasgow area that need to come this way too. Who knows.
Anyway, not us, that’s for sure.
We have, however, been making promises to ourselves to keep the new car in some sort of tidy state. We’ll keep it clean, we’ve said. We’ll not use it as a wardrobe on wheels, we’ve said. We’ve said that. Not just Carole. I promise to not keep all my shoes and coats in it as well. We’re not going to let things melt in door panels, or to spill minstrels into seat crevices where they remain until they go mouldy. We’re not going to do that. Even though up until that point we were unaware that chocolate could go mouldy.
But it can.
And it’s horrible.
And really slimy and sticky, since you ask.
We have made all these promises.
Carole’s parental units have sent us a car cleaning kit. Which I guess means we’ll probably have to wash this new car or something. I mean, we washed the old one once or twice I guess…
It’s all very exciting.
We just need to know when we can get it now…
Oh, and then name it.
I’m plumping for Steve Car-man. But I don’t think that’ll stick, somehow.
Carole’s making a case for Gandalf because it’s a grey car.