My horseless carriage is beginning to show its age. After almost ten years of faithful service I may have to accept that the old workhorse needs to be replaced. This is a sad and difficult decision. It only seems like yesterday that I drove it from the garage on the first of its now one hundred and seventy thousand miles.
I feel that I am being a bit of a traitor even thinking of consigning it to the vehicular equivalent of the equine retirement home, or even worse the knackers yard or glue factory. But time goes on. The years are in it and I am becoming wary as to whether it can hold its form on long runs. Its annual health check is looming and this has forced me to address its future.
Without telling it what I was doing I drove it to a garage yesterday so that I might view a possible replacement. I don't think that it really understood what was going on. I parked it some distance from the sprightly young pretenders with their shining paintwork. It would have been unfair to allow it to draw comparisons with its own lacklustre comportment.
The new generation of dobbins undoubtedly have more zip and they would be cheaper to fuel and maintain ,but the initial outlay is the rub. It is hard to warrant and rationalise the expense. Perhaps something with a lesser pedigree should be the replacement for the loyal provider of locomotory services.