All good things must come to an end

Our beloved volvo needs to go to a retirement home. It still has a very strong heartbeat but it's tired. It's losing its skin and fingernails and limbs and hair slowly but surely. There's no such thing as car medicare and it's not worth the repair costs.

I love driving that thing. I feel as though I could play skittles with lamposts and not sustain a scratch. It's like a tank with a bullbar on the front. We can only hope someone with a like affection for volvos wants to part with some cash in return for its better parts. It still drives and drives beautifully but it's falling apart. The sheepskin seat covers are about the only thing still in one piece and even they've seen better days.

I still consider myself lucky to have spent less on all the cars I've owned than a new car would ever cost me. I drove my last car until it just wouldn't go anymore. It got donated to someone who wanted the brand new radiator and the brand new tyres. The rest got scrapped. It was worthless in monetary terms but it had been a good car to me and had served me well.

I find it hard to believe our fully functioning volvo is worth less than a toasted cheese and vegemite sandwich. May it rest in peace...or may Patrick bulldoze a new dam in the orchard patch with it.