Tyrekickers

You know those type of guys and gals who get their cars ‘winter-ready’? Who clean under the wheel arches to make sure residues of salt aren’t corroding the blah blah blah or fill their screen-spray devices with royal blue glass-cleaning chemical blah to ensure the blah blah blah? They’re the same folk who regularly check the oil dipper or kick the tyres thoughtfully before long trips.

I’ve never kicked my tyres before a long trip. Each winter I run out of screenwash and spend my M60 commutes pulling into the slipstream of speeding cars whose drivers are assiduously misting their windscreens, so I can catch a cloud of drifting spray. If I catch a flat, I catch a flat.

No tyrekicker, me. I’ll start the engine, get going, and see how far the jalopy takes me. If it all goes pear-shaped – I run short of de-ionized something so that the radiator overheats and the spark plugs blah blah blah – well, I deal with it then. I’ve spent a few hours on the side of the motorway waiting for a guy who knows his blahs to rescue me in a big van as a result of this policy. But I’ve also had hours of happy motoring.

In January a start writing a book called ‘Let’s Be Mermaids’. Or maybe ‘Deep Jones’ or ‘Costa Formosa’. Whatever it ends up being called, I don’t plan on doing much tyrekicking, I’m just going to climb aboard and see where it takes me.

Here’s the deal. When I’m deep in despair – this’ll be June or July – remind me of this post, will you? And together we can laugh bitterly at the foolhardy blockhead that is the 2015 version of me.