I have no interest in cars as symbols of wealth, power or status, tending instead to regard those who flaunt their prancing horses as rather sad and insignificant doyens of a delusional culture. Nevertheless, I am capable of developing great fondness for cars as personalities. They all have a personality, even though it’s rarely allowed to become manifest because people will insist on cloaking it under the above mentioned delusion. The point about a car’s personality is that it only develops when the potential is recognised, and it flourishes in direct proportion to the driver’s willingness to afford the vehicle the level of respect he or she would afford any other sentient being.
The car I’ve been driving for the last three years or so is a lady, a quiet and demure lady of charm and gentle habits, and I always treated her as any considerate gentleman would be moved to treat such a lady. In the process, I became remarkably fond of her. Unfortunately, she is also deep into advanced age, and today the list of repairs needed to get her through the annual test proved just too long. She is come to the end of her days, and will soon be exposed to the un-tender attentions of a scrap metal dealer. This is a sad day.
I’m reminded of the end of the film Poltergeist II. When the Native American is asked what the family can do to repay his services, he says something like:
‘You must let me take your car. She wants to be with me.’
So, do I have the mind of a mere savage? Does the mere savage have a mind inferior to the prancing horse brigade? We all believe what we want to believe.
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