I left work early and headed along Spencer Street to pick up my car. New clutch, new main engine oil seal, new ball joints, driver side driving light, left-hand side parking light, recalibrated temperature gage, all things the R.A.C.V. missed. (If I haven't said it for a while, the R.A.C.V.'s mechanical checks aren't worth the paper they are printed on)
When I was nearly at the mechanics, a car came along Spencer Street behind me. That sounds good, I thought, as I looked around, it was mine being test driven.
The only thing left to do now, said Tony, is the exhaust, as he handed me the keys, just before I headed out the door. The proper exhaust will make a difference to the performance of the car. It'll get more air.
I wondered, what kind of exhaust note we could work on with the new exhaust, as I stalled the car twice, as Tony laughed. New clutch, he said.
Big difference, the new clutch, just goes to show how knackered the old one really was. I gunned it up Dudley Street, in celebration, slipping around the markets with the gentle GTI push in the back. Nippy and quick.
Zoom, zoom!
Nobody was home. I headed to bed around 20.30, I had new porn to watch, even if I wasn’t really going to admit that.
A group of people came home not long after. Chatted, played music, the smell of pot drifted up the stairs. They went out, came back about 23.00, then left at midnight, altogether. I should have got up. I should have gone down to chat. They probably went to The Laird. I should have gone too. Ah, well.
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