Some Writing

Rosie and I have a bit of history. She had become sadly, quite shabby. Hail damage previously, or just being out of a garage haven't helped. I planned a new image for her, a spruce up to stop the rust getting in.

I put forward a design, a Spray Artist interpreted it. She is a bit of a talking point now with street cred. Most of the design I like, however, I am not a teenage male.

I am maybe going to have a go myself. Something a little more subtle and stylish is what I had in mind. So I need to re-familiarise myself with airbrushing, there is the opportunity to borrow the equipment. 37 yrs ago was the last time, as a Graphic Design school student.

Here is part of her story. Pictures to come.

‘Rosie’ With The Sunburnt Nose

You shouldn’t name cars.  Nor for that matter, farmstock that become pets e.g. pigs, chooks, etc.

The writing’s on the wall, cars get old.

I get called ‘Packhorse’ at our house, but my cars are true Workhorses. We live in a wonderful, naturally diverse valley, an old block sold to us with no off-street  parking, many moons ago.

So my cars sit up the top, waiting faithfully to perform their many errands. I haul goods up and down the mountainside, hence my monicker ‘Packhorse’ or ‘Pack’ . Baby twins, one under each arm like wiggley sacks of potatoes, shopping, trash, Council Cleanup, and gardening supplies.

I’ve had cars with nicknames  before – Old Grey elephant (Ford sedan), Big Red Chilli Pepper (Mitsubishi stationwagon), and now Rose-Anna (cue several bars of Rosanna by Toto).

Some cars are just cars, but Rosie is mine, she was chosen for me, style, colour, roof racks and towbar for bike racks.

She was four years young when handed over, ex lease as my hubbies former work vehicle. Professional blokes usually get sleek, luxury models with sunroofs, leather seats, bun warmers and the like.

I just need a car, with a big cargo. One that just go, go, goes.

No garage for her, she endures the elements, has been hail damaged, egged on Halloween, bird spotted.

Luckily, unlike one of her predecessors, not broken into, hotwired and used in an attempted armed robbery, baby car seat and all. Dirty criminals, with guns, in my car!

We share a history, Rosie and me. Thrashed by all the Mum Taxiing, and 240 hours of teaching two kids to drive, she still looks good, side on. Unfortunately, the lacquer on her maroon bonnet has all but peeled away, leaving her looking forlorn.

Costly. Too much for replacement new, wrecker part, or respray. I’ve even contemplated a custom graffiti job? Hmm.

Like a line from Dr Seuss, it was the places we’d see, oh, the adventures we’d go. School friends, parks, drop offs to camps, dirt roads, up the coast to visit Nanna.

Now I’ve been offered the next sleek new model, ex work car, with bun warmers, leather seats and sun roof.

I don’t want it. I just want Rosie and I to drive off into the Sunset, for years and years.

So raise a bottle of GTX  oil to all the old girls, may they run forever.