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Car
Trouble
The
two men moved away from their stationary
vehicles, and went to lean against the fence
“Car trouble Steve?” said Dave Phillips, to
his friend with a voice full of sympathy.
Steve Morris took a battered pack of cigarettes
from his pocket, shook it to release one, and
offered the packet to Dave.
“Yeah, it’s not running right, no bloody
acceleration, it’s like a snail on valium”
He lit his smoke, and drew hard on it in
disgust.
Dave sniffed loudly, clearing mucus from his
nasal passages and swallowed audibly as it slid
down his throat. His wife Jill had been trying
to get him to stop spitting
“Disgusting habit” She said, but the
alternative was probably just as gross.
“It’s a piece of crap” moaned Steve,
looking with disdain towards the red car
manufactured sometime in the mid eighties. It
shined beautifully and its paintwork was
pristine, but it was just too dammned slow.
“It just hasn’t got any bite”
“Aaahh yes mate but how are you using the
accelerator?” asked Dave, now donning the
knowledgeable voice of an expert in these
matters. He brought his hand down in a slow
gliding motion. “You have to treat it like a
lady. Softly softly mate. Go on then show us how
do you do it? I bet you bring your great size
tens down like a bloody sledgehammer”
Now it was Steve’s turn to bring down his hand
to indicate how he applies pressure to the
accelerator. Less limp wristed perhaps than his
friend, but still looking to anyone watching
like some bizarre dance. The two men leant
against the fence flapping their left arms in
unison.
“Nah, nah, nah Mate. Your not stamping on a
friggin` spider” Sniff . Swallow. Now the feet
had come to the fore as he made spider crushing
gestures. “Gently like. As though you’re
crushing grapes and are not allowed to bruise
them.”
Steve crumpled his nose as he gave a brief
passing thought to the disgusting smell his feet
emitted when he took his trainers and socks off.
“Ugh wouldn’t fancy drinking any Wine my
ploats had trampled mate.”
With a “lets humour the sad git” expression
on his face he duly did his foot pressing
imitation. They did it in unison. Stepping their
right legs down onto the soft earth, holding
onto imaginary steering wheels as they depresed
the non existant throttle. Add, Little Eva
singing the Locomotion, and you had
entertainment.
Dave sniffed and swallowed, satisfied that his
gas pedal lesson would do some good. He took the
last inhalation on his cigarette and flicked it
expertly to land smoldering ten feet away.
Steve stamped his used fag butt, under foot “
There, that’s how you do it” he said and
they both laughed.
“Well are we having another do then?”
The men rummaged deeply in their pockets, on the
hunt for another pound coin. They walked back
towards the fairground Dogems, arguing over
which car they were going to ride this time. |
