Heartbroken but hopeful

Yesterday, I texted the garage about Henry. They’ve had him for over a month, but I got no reply to my last text. They said they’d not started yet. Not good.

Later, I went for a run (two miles warm-up, eight lots of intervals, two miles cool-down – bleurgh), and happened to see the mechanic on his way home. I stopped for a chat. He made his excuses – staff on holiday, slammed busy, etc. I told him I was disappointed. I lamented about having to drive Panda Car.

‘I bet it’s got power steering.’

This is a running joke between us. Henry is the only car that comes to him that doesn’t have power steering.

‘I don’t like it!’

He said it’s really soft in Fiat Pandas. ‘Does it have a City button?’

‘Yes. I don’t know what it does.’

It makes the steering even softer so it’s easier to park and manoeuvre in cities. ‘Don’t press it while you’re driving. Press it when you’re stationary.’

I told him I didn’t understand the central locking. ‘With Henry, if you want a door unlocking, you just unlock it.’ I don’t get why I need to unlock all the doors at once. ‘And the boot is a mystery. Sometimes it locks with everything else, and sometimes it doesn’t. I try the handle, and it opens.’ It’s better now that I’ve discovered the button on the key that does it all at once.

He chuckled. ‘Were you using the key every time?’

‘Um, yeah.’

We got back onto Henry. He promised he’d work on him this week. He said to text on Thursday afternoon for a progress report, remind him that he’d promised.

I got a text this afternoon with the words I dread from them: ‘Can you come round?’

I went round.

Henry was up on the ramp with his rear tyres off, his back end exposed to all and sundry.

Being shown the rust was like when you’re on a plane and they show you where all the emergency exits are, but there are more emergency exits than there is plane.

There’s some really important bits of car that are really badly rusted. But they can’t tell the extent of the rust without taking off the rear axle and the petrol tank. If they take these off, because of the way Henry is built, they might not be able to put him back together, not easily.

I told them to look and see how bad it is under there and we’ll see what happens. So that’s something to look forward to at the end of next week. It might be ok. It might not be. It’s going to cost a fortune. A real fortune.

‘Anyone else, any other car, I’d say no.’

I hope he understands how much I appreciate them doing this for Henry and for me.

In the end, I had to leave; partly because I had to get ready for Fight Klub; partly because I was on the verge of tears.

My Henry.

I’m not ready to say goodbye.


I just about held it together till I got home, then had a sob on Mr Pandammonium, trying not to crush his still-bruised ribs.

He said he’d make some comfort cookies while I was out at Fight Klub working off some of the emotion. Such a sweetie.

I just made it to Fight Klub in time – in Panda Car. Fight Klub was a tonic. It’s really therapeutic to punch something as hard as you can. ‘Jab, cross, double jab, body, body, knee, knee, back fist.’ Such complicated routines keep the brain awake so you’re not mindlessly punching the bag.

Before I set off home, I pressed the City button in Panda Car. Turning the corner in the car park, Panda Car felt like it was going to topple right over. I didn’t like it.

I felt better when I got back home to the smell of freshly baked cookies – with sprinkles – and the imminent arrival of takeaway pizza for tea.


I miss my Henry.