Saturday, July 30, 2005

Poop poop!


I debated whether I should really be blogging the fact that I've got a new car because, clearly, you all are going to care even less about this than anything else so far.

It means nothing to anyone but me. Well, it means £1000 to Chris because that's how much I gave him for it. A bright red Peugeot 306. Am I excited about it? Hell, yes. Is that relevant? Not especially.

I bought it from him because for the last two years or so he's been romancing my sister while posted at RAF Croughton. Now that he's done his time, he's gone home to the States and taken my sister with him. Bon voyage - but I expect them both to be back in a matter of months, as there is more for him here than there ever was there.

He's not getting the car back though.

My old car was a heap of crap even before my late night run-in with a young deer: no music, a broken heater, cracked headlamps, and at least three attempts to get it moving every morning. For the last six months I've been driving around with a severely buckled right hand side and no driver's mirror, courtesy of British wildlife. It's only a modest trade-up but I feel a certain pride in my new status, and not one ounce of remorse about my Astra's final drive to the scrapyard this morning. Let her rot in peace.

Now, why the aforementioned debate? I'm conscious that in order to motivate myself into writing something of lasting value - my long planned but rarely attempted screenplay, for instance - I need to get into the habit of writing something every day. Occasionally it's going to be some unremarkable piece of tedium from my hum-drum daily life.

Can't be helped, really.

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