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MORRIS MINOR
My Dad put half the money in for my next car. He had told me that it was something called a Morris, and although I had not seen it until it was purchased (from an old Traffic Warden friend of my Dads), I, for some reason had a Ford Anglia in my mind. On the day that my Dad drove me home from work and I saw this hand-painted Morris Minor outside the house, my heart dropped like a stone. It looked like an old grandad car and farted when I drove down the road.
However, I became to really like the Morris, over time. I have always been able to laugh at myself, and the car became a laughing point that I joined in with. It was made of 3mm thick steel, incredibly strong, and because of that there were many times I was able to go to partys in Newquay and guarenteed at the end of the night there was myself, and a bunch of half-naked girls dancing with me on the roof of it.
I stuck rubber ducks on the bonnet and the stereo was a ghetto-blaster on the back seat (which took batteries that needed replacing every couple of hours!)
One day I travelled, with my girlfriend, up to London to see my Nana. During the drive, for some reason going around Guildford (My Nana lived in Sutton), I surpassed 90mph. The speedo stuck, and until the day the car died, the speedo always showed the same speed.
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My Cars
I don't know when my interest in cars started. I guess like all boys I liked seeing them when I was younger, but I think its only been in the last twelve years that my interest in them has gown.
I started learning how to drive in a shitty-brown, massively overweight Hillman Hunter. That didn't even last long enough for me to pass my test, even though I bought fluffy steering wheel and seat covers - which I add covered me in tiny flecks of the stuff every time I sat in it.