The irresponsibility of youth
The saga of my lethal Fiat 127 continues. With a brand new exhaust system intact and perhaps more importantly, secured to the vehicle, I had a period of two or three weeks of happy, trouble free motoring. I used the time to carry out some cosmetic repairs to the front wings.
Rust had eaten through the steel leaving embarrassing holes in the panels. I spent a few happy hours cramming them with chicken wire and plastic padding, then carefully spraying with a slightly darker but impressive blue cellulose paint. Delighted with my pointless repairs I carried on with my daily routine, blissfully ignorant of what was to follow.
The weekend came and I was tasked with driving my girlfriend and her best mate to the train station as they set off on a girlie weekend. I arrived at her flat with my newly polished paint job. The weather was appalling, with torrential rain beating down on the car. I ran to the door as the two girls were emerging, suitcases at the ready.
Ever the gentleman I suggested they stay under the porch whist I loaded the cases. I unlocked and opened the hatchback, grabbed the first case and hurriedly stowed it in the boot. Already soaked by the worst rain we'd seen in years, I was keen to work quickly. I ran for the second case and shouted for the girls to get in the car whilst I loaded the boot.
They made a dash for it and reached the car just as I threw the second case in the back. Now desperate to get out of the downpour I slammed the hatchback door as hard as I could. This was a serious mistake.
Having concentrated my recent efforts on tidying up the front of the car, I had failed to realise that the back end had been quietly suffering from similar erosion. Rather than the satisfying clunk of a well slammed door, there was a disturbing crack as the entire rear section of the car body snapped and fell off.
The tailgate door, now with nothing to fasten to, was left free to do what it most wanted to. It flew upwards under the strength of the pneumatic arms and whooshed dangerously past my face. Whilst running instinctively away from this carnage, I turned and saw the door reach the fully open position. This proved too much for the rusted hinges so it too snapped and fell completely off.
There followed a period of a strange calm as all three of us struggled to accept what we'd just seen happen. I remember thinking perhaps we were in a state of mild shock as we stared for a few horrible seconds at the wreck before us. You could plainly see parts of the car you shouldn't be able to, like when you drive past a motorway accident. The two girls looked at me, mouths open, as if expecting an explanation for this horror.
Only the sound and strength of the rain brought me back to my senses. I yelled at the girls to get in the car as I picked up the whole rear end of a Fiat 127 in my arms. Ramming it crudely into position I then carefully relocated the hatchback door back where it ought to have been and managed to get the lock to engage. Satisfied, I dived in the driving seat and grinned nervously at the frightened girls, pretending nothing bad had just happened.
Rather than condemn the vehicle as a death trap, I confidently drove them to the station as planned, distracted slightly by the thought that major sections of my car might at any moment slip away and clatter into a trail of wreckage behinds us. This was going to need a more permanent repair. Tin cans just weren't going to cut it this time.
Rust had eaten through the steel leaving embarrassing holes in the panels. I spent a few happy hours cramming them with chicken wire and plastic padding, then carefully spraying with a slightly darker but impressive blue cellulose paint. Delighted with my pointless repairs I carried on with my daily routine, blissfully ignorant of what was to follow.
The weekend came and I was tasked with driving my girlfriend and her best mate to the train station as they set off on a girlie weekend. I arrived at her flat with my newly polished paint job. The weather was appalling, with torrential rain beating down on the car. I ran to the door as the two girls were emerging, suitcases at the ready.
Ever the gentleman I suggested they stay under the porch whist I loaded the cases. I unlocked and opened the hatchback, grabbed the first case and hurriedly stowed it in the boot. Already soaked by the worst rain we'd seen in years, I was keen to work quickly. I ran for the second case and shouted for the girls to get in the car whilst I loaded the boot.
They made a dash for it and reached the car just as I threw the second case in the back. Now desperate to get out of the downpour I slammed the hatchback door as hard as I could. This was a serious mistake.
Having concentrated my recent efforts on tidying up the front of the car, I had failed to realise that the back end had been quietly suffering from similar erosion. Rather than the satisfying clunk of a well slammed door, there was a disturbing crack as the entire rear section of the car body snapped and fell off.
The tailgate door, now with nothing to fasten to, was left free to do what it most wanted to. It flew upwards under the strength of the pneumatic arms and whooshed dangerously past my face. Whilst running instinctively away from this carnage, I turned and saw the door reach the fully open position. This proved too much for the rusted hinges so it too snapped and fell completely off.
There followed a period of a strange calm as all three of us struggled to accept what we'd just seen happen. I remember thinking perhaps we were in a state of mild shock as we stared for a few horrible seconds at the wreck before us. You could plainly see parts of the car you shouldn't be able to, like when you drive past a motorway accident. The two girls looked at me, mouths open, as if expecting an explanation for this horror.
Only the sound and strength of the rain brought me back to my senses. I yelled at the girls to get in the car as I picked up the whole rear end of a Fiat 127 in my arms. Ramming it crudely into position I then carefully relocated the hatchback door back where it ought to have been and managed to get the lock to engage. Satisfied, I dived in the driving seat and grinned nervously at the frightened girls, pretending nothing bad had just happened.
Rather than condemn the vehicle as a death trap, I confidently drove them to the station as planned, distracted slightly by the thought that major sections of my car might at any moment slip away and clatter into a trail of wreckage behinds us. This was going to need a more permanent repair. Tin cans just weren't going to cut it this time.
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