My car started making some pretty fearsome noises a day or so ago. It sounded, according to my eldest son, ‘like a helicopter’. And typically, I had just had it MOT’ed last week.
By this morning, the noise of it had become more than just an irritation. It was stressing the life out of me, conjuring up visions of wheels clattering off into oncoming traffic as I navigated the school run; visions of pile-ups and injured schoolkids. Fortunately I managed to safely deliver all three of my children to school and nursery, but by the time I set off for the garage, I just couldn’t listen to that noise any more. Up to the max went the volume control on the stereo and before long, I was belting along to Blur’s On Your Own
I’ve got an okay voice, nothing brilliant but certainly nothing embarrassing (“I’m not that good but I’m not that bad…” Geddit?) But that was hardly the point. Man it felt good. Sun beating down, legs out (in a skirt) for the first time this year, just hyped enough on an a.m caffeine buzz to switch my sense of unease about the car over into reckless yeah whateverness. When the song was over, I hit the back button and played it all over again.