A Pedestrian Again

I've had to scrap my car, an almost embarrassingly unexciting Rover 214 that I bought three and a half years ago only because I needed a vehicle and it was available to me at a reduced price of three hundred quid and had eleven months' MOT. It cost me one hundred and twenty five pounds to get it through the next test and two hundred and thirty five for the one following. This year I had to fork out four hundred and forty to keep it legal and another eighty for a battery. It urgently needs a new tyre, and probably two more very soon; the radiator leaks; the water pump is wobbly, if it hasn't packed up altogether; the engine management system malfunctions when the engine is hot, due I think to a cooked sensor, caused by losing most of the coolant through a radiator leak; the alternator shows every indication of dying quite soon; the steering is distinctly quirky, caused, I'm sure, by whomever replaced the relevant bushes for the MOT in February, and, perhaps most importantly, I've never derived any satisfaction, of any kind, from owning or driving it, and the tax expires at the end of the month. In view of all that, and if the trend shown by the previous years' figures is continued, I can expect to have to pay about eight hundred next February. The car simply isn't worth it.

Last night the engine died after only about three miles. I let it cool for three quarters of an hour or so and then managed to restart it, resigned to being carless for a while.