A couple of weeks ago I complained that my car was covered in mud (some of it quite thick) following a police diversion. Since then the weather has been inclement to the extent that I have been very reluctant to wash the car. It has either been too cold, or wet. I am averse to using an automated car-wash after an Incident with the previous car. Thus the car has languished in its unwashed state, albeit in fairly regular use which increases the dirt.
On Saturday, with the temperature positively balmy and the atmosphere dry and sunny, I decided to undertake the much needed washing of the car. Out came the hosepipe, the bucket, shampoo, leather, polishing cloth, window cleaner, elbow grease and MP3 player. Some 90 minutes later with sweat dripping and aching in both arms, I surveyed the beast. Bright, shiny, and gleaming in every (visible) part it was a work of art, a labour of love, and worth more than the cup of tea The Wife presented me with. Away went the hosepipe, bucket et al and I retired to the TV with that smug sense of satisfaction that every car-washer knows. Will we never learn?
Sunday dawned, and the weather was chucking it down, and did so all day. High winds accompanied the rain just to make sure that muck from way off was whipped in the general direction of my car, where it stuck to the now wet paintwork, chrome, plastic, and glass. Now the car needs washing, again...
I am reminded of the immortal song by the late Michael Flanders and Donald Swann, "The Gas Man Cometh". Those two knew a thing or two about life.