Care Package from Forn Parts

Received a belated Birthday pressie from my favourite academic today. Enough digression, back to business.

Today's Exercise.

Consider the stories and the characters that might lie behind this sketch:

A butter-yellow Ford Cortina, key scratches on the bonnet, spelling out a word or a signature, can’t tell which. A peeling Canaries sticker on the bumper, green and yellow seat covers. Magic Tree air freshener hanging off the mirror. Crumpled McDonald’s bags on the back seat. (Bell & Magrs 2019*)


F turns into the street thinking I want this car, suddenly there it is parked in a drive. Even from this distance it is quite obvious that it has been neglected for a very long time. By the time F knocks on the door there is a degree of anger lurking. Looking at the car in passing it was enough to realise that the owner didn’t have a clue, or give a shit about it. How could anyone let such a classic car get into such a disgraceful state? This beautiful butter yellow Mk1 Ford Cortina definitely needed a vast amount of TLC. The peeling Canaries sticker on the bumper, and the green and yellow seat covers definitely screamed ‘football fan’. The crumpled McDonald’s bags and cartons littering the back seat, and the Magic Tree air freshener hanging from the mirror as an attempt to disguise the smell all told their tale. The owner was very definitely a single bloke who no self-respecting woman would give a first look, let alone a second. Then there were the key scratches on the bonnet, a word, a signature, difficult to determine which.

The door opened and there he stood in jeans and a T shirt, with a bottle of beer in his hand. To describe him as short, fat and scruffy would be to give praise. It spoke
“Oh, I was expecting a bloke!”
“Didn’t my boyfriend tell you?”
“No, he said a friend wanted to come and see the car, I assumed it was a bloke.”
Frances wanted to get this over and done with before she felt the urge to commit murder.
“I’ll take it, £250 you were asking wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, don’t you want to give it a bit of a spin first.”
“Nope, I’m sure it will be fine.”
She counted out £260 in twenties and handed it over
“I don’t think I have a tenner.”
Frances knew full well that he probably did, but just wanted away from here.
“That’s fine, it’s worth it to me.”

The guy went off, and came back a few minutes later with the documentation, handing it over with the keys he asked
“What does a girl like you want with a car like that then?”
“Well, it does need quite a bit of attention doesn’t it?”
“Nah, it’s an old banger, bit of a wash and a clean and it will look fine.”
By now Frances was livid with, she realised that he hadn’t told her his name, this moron.
“You really don’t know what that is do you?”
“Yeah, it’s just another old banger.”
“No, it isn’t, back in the day it was the very top of the range. Very few produced, expensive, and for the discerning driver.”
“How come you know that then?”
“Believe me, when it comes to classic old cars I am a total nerd. Six months in my garage, a new paint job, and you will never recognise it.”
With that she said goodbye and walked to the car, got in and started the engine
“Fuck, that’s sweet - very sweet.”
and drove away.

* Bell J., Magrs P. eds, The creative Writing Coursebook, Macmillan, 2019