My car is currently being serviced as I write this, sitting as I am on the 70s sofa in the waiting room, surrounded by Golf and Fishing magazines and a faint aroma of tobacco.
It’s a super car – my little Toyota Yaris – and I love it dearly, though perhaps I don’t show it often enough. We’ve been together for over a decade now and aside from the odd hiccup, it has been a loyal and trustworthy companion.
Whenever we do have hiccups – a few flat tyes, the exhaust falling off, refusal to start after I’d apparently flooded the engine – it’s all been down to me, not the car.
In fact, my favourite mechanic, Sid, a straight-talking Yorkshireman, just popped his head out to say that the battery is fine… the area around it just needs cleaning. And I’m below minimum levels of oil. And I clearly haven’t been checking my tyre pressure.
“It’s not the car,” he said, “it’s the owner!” We laughed.
“That’s exactly what my dad said.”
My inclination of course is to blame the car… but I know they’re both right – it’s only through my own choices, neglect and the fact that I drive too fast over speed bumps leaving school that these problems arise.
A bit like life really. Of course, there’ll always be bumps in the road, along with the wear and tear of daily life.
But if you put effort, care and attention into yourself (and strive to make good choices that help, rather than hurt yourself) then things will surely run a lot more smoothly.
I’m working on it, with the Yaris… and all that other stuff.