Happy Thursday

I haven't blogged since last week simply because I wanted to give people the chance to take part in the previous post.

It had nothing to do with my wild weekend with the Viking in the Fens. And absolutely nothing to do with the ghastly bug which inflicted itself upon me Monday and pretty much ruined this week.

However, I decided I would live to fight another day and I'm pretty pleased I did. Being poorly is no fun at all. This evening, I sit here in my jammies and pink, fluffy dressing gown, grinning like an idiot. A few weeks ago, I had to give the MR2 back. It needed to have some work done on it and the tax ran out (long story). So I've been driving The Director's other car - a SAAB. The Saab is incredibly comfortable, solid and rather light on it's feet. Unfortunately, as well as all the bells and whistles you could ever hope for, it is very thirsty. It does bugger all to the gallon and has a huge tank to fill.

This afternoon we finally got my act together and got the MR2 taxed . The Director is once again installed in his beloved Saab, and I am back in the MR2. Woo Hoo!

I realised as I was driving back in the darkness that is a Norfolk night, I am hopelessly in love with the MR2. It is not a comfortable car to drive. It has no power steering, no ABS brakes. It has the minimum of luxury in the interior, in fact, there really isn't much of an interior to have - it's two seats, steering wheel and dash - oh and a handbag hook behind each seat. It's quite a tiring car to drive. But I got in, started her up and grinned during the whole drive. The gear box is positive in it's delivery, and my goodness, when I rev the engine it growls and snarls. It sits on the road fairly steadily, but does have a tendancy to dance round corners if you're not careful. It's fun, with a capital 'F'.

The MR2 hasn't had a thrilled reception from all of my friends. One person suggested MR2 was French for 'shite', another was horrified that I could possibly call myself pagan while driving it. I'm assuming because it's a sports car - an ostentatious show of wealth and a planet destroyer. The fact that it's about 20 years old and goes forever on the smell of an oily rag, is neither here nor there.

What can I say? I just can't help myself. Despite it all, I love it to bits.

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