Shiny
Being a petrolhead is hard work.
Tomorrow I have to get up at some ungodly hour, long before the crack of sparrow's fart, and drive all the way to Kettering in Northamptonshire (shouldn't that be Northhamptonshire?), and for what reason? Well, the Alfa Romeo Owners Club are holding National Alfa Day at Boughton Hall, just north of Kettering. Since I have been bullied into running the GT register, I kind of need to be there.
Now I might have gone anyway, and probably would have taken JulieD, but having one Duetto lined up with a collection of GTs would have looked a bit stupid. And if I'm being honest (which happens from time to time, usually after too many martinis), JulieD is a bit scruffy - she'd feel embarrassed amongst the highly polished Duettos of the more anally retentive register members.
So this afternoon I did what many a red-blooded male does on a sunny Saturday. No, I didn't sit indoors watching the football, and neither did I fall asleep on the sofa with a half-drunk can of lager perched precariously on my pendulous belly (I would have said peritoneum, but you'd most likely have had to go and look that up. Alliteration's a bugger sometimes.) No, what I did was wash the batmobile. And then I polished it too. Now it's very shiny - even the bit where the Horse Doctor scraped the wing against a fence post has buffed out nicely.
By the time I get to Kettering tomorrow, it will be bug-smeared and grubby again. But at least I'll know it had that deep, lustrous, showroom gleam for a little while.
Apart from the stone chips, that is.
Tomorrow I shall be a nerd and take loads of pictures of nice cars. If you're really lucky, I'll post them here later. Now I'm off to get an early night. There's a moral in this tale somewhere, and it goes something along the lines of 'never volunteer for anything, ever.'
Tomorrow I have to get up at some ungodly hour, long before the crack of sparrow's fart, and drive all the way to Kettering in Northamptonshire (shouldn't that be Northhamptonshire?), and for what reason? Well, the Alfa Romeo Owners Club are holding National Alfa Day at Boughton Hall, just north of Kettering. Since I have been bullied into running the GT register, I kind of need to be there.
Now I might have gone anyway, and probably would have taken JulieD, but having one Duetto lined up with a collection of GTs would have looked a bit stupid. And if I'm being honest (which happens from time to time, usually after too many martinis), JulieD is a bit scruffy - she'd feel embarrassed amongst the highly polished Duettos of the more anally retentive register members.
So this afternoon I did what many a red-blooded male does on a sunny Saturday. No, I didn't sit indoors watching the football, and neither did I fall asleep on the sofa with a half-drunk can of lager perched precariously on my pendulous belly (I would have said peritoneum, but you'd most likely have had to go and look that up. Alliteration's a bugger sometimes.) No, what I did was wash the batmobile. And then I polished it too. Now it's very shiny - even the bit where the Horse Doctor scraped the wing against a fence post has buffed out nicely.
By the time I get to Kettering tomorrow, it will be bug-smeared and grubby again. But at least I'll know it had that deep, lustrous, showroom gleam for a little while.
Apart from the stone chips, that is.
Tomorrow I shall be a nerd and take loads of pictures of nice cars. If you're really lucky, I'll post them here later. Now I'm off to get an early night. There's a moral in this tale somewhere, and it goes something along the lines of 'never volunteer for anything, ever.'
Comments
To quote Wikipedia:
"In higher vertebrates, the peritoneum is the serous membrane that forms the lining of the abdominal cavity - it covers most of the intra-abdominal organs. (The corresponding serous membranes in the pleural and pericardial cavities of the thorax are called the pleura and the pericardium respectively.) The peritoneum both supports the abdominal organs and serves as a conduit for their blood and lymph vessels and nerves."
Your turn.
But apart from that, a splendid bit of pedantry, Mr Stuart. Worthy of myself, I might even say.