Goodbye, old friend.

Goodbye, old friend.

I once had a lovely little car. Nothing fancy, just a champagne-coloured 1400 Golf. No power steering, no air-conditioning, just the basics. The only thing that set him apart from the myriad of other Golf’s littering the streets of Cape Town was the fact that he was mine and that I was paying the monthly instalments with my own money earned with my own blood, sweat and tears. We had a good run, Aragorn and I. We had lovely trips up the Garden Route, to my grandparents in Bredasdorp and my parents in Riebeek Kasteel. Not once did I encounter a flat tire, an unwilling battery or a troublesome starter motor. Smooth sailing, really.
Imagine my absolute shock and horror when I walked out of my cousin’s beautifully appointed flatlet in Upper Woodstock to find that Aragorn had been nicked. Gone – a’ la poof. Along with my gym bag containing my trusty running shoes, my favourite pair of ski pants and the one shirt I own that can withstand sweaty Yoga sessions without revealing any lumps and bumps. The experience was quite disconcerting to say the very least.

I proceeded to ring up the Woodstock Police Department to get a case number. Living in South Africa I didn’t really expect them to find Aragorn; he was probably being hacked to bits or spray-painted a different colour at the time in any case. I simply needed the case number so I could start the very tedious and needlessly complicated process of having the insurance company provide the very service I pay them for – providing the money to buy a new car. Four nerve-wrecking hours later the police van showed up, took my statement and left, leaving me without any means of getting to work. Woodstock is not really a neighbourhood you want to go walking around in and taking a taxi is equally dodgy. Cape Town car rental companies offer some very nice deals, but not knowing how long the insurance company would take to process my claim I didn’t want to saddle myself with that extra expense, lest I had to pay a hefty surcharge.

In the end the parentals came through and provided me with a Toyota Tazz to get me around in the meantime. Not my favourite car, it kind of looks like someone stepped on a Golf, flattened it out and then stuck an unnecessarily long snout on it. It runs well enough though, so I can’t really complain.
This is my homage to Aragorn. I miss you buddy and I hope the dumbass that nicked you is at least treating you to regular oil changes and window washes, although I highly doubt it. I also sincerely hope they enjoy Nouvelle Vague, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Edith Piaf and the Amelia soundtrack since those are the treasured CD’s I lost to their little crime spree. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgggggghhhh!!!