The Machine That Eats Money

 

There is nothing quite like the quiet anxiety of your vehicle's annual checkup, before its physical. Betsy Jean, our trusty Ford Focus, named primarily because her number plate reads BJ10 and she possesses the distinct personality of a mildly disgruntled relative, decided today was the day to stage a protest.

When the mechanics attempted to peer under her hood, she flatly refused to open her mouth. The bonnet opening cylinder had completely given up the ghost. A total lockjaw situation. Classic Betsy move, honestly. She later had to be taken to a specialist just to get her jaw pried open, which felt entirely dramatic for a Friday.

Once they finally breached the perimeter, the news only worsened. Apparently, the old girl also required a brand-new set of shoes. Yes, all four tyres were deemed past their prime, and we couldn't her waddling about in a pair of well-worn slippers.

Five hundred pounds later; £180 for the service, a staggering £260 for the new footwear, and £60 for the emergency dental work on her bonnet, she is finally back on the driveway. The wallet is significantly lighter, the stress levels are impressively higher, and yet the true trial awaits. Next week, she faces the ultimate judgment: her full MOT examination. Ahh, the absolute, boundless joys of car ownership. Truly spectacular.