I apologise for the poor Cyril Fletcher imitation but it does relate my recent motoring experiences:
“Vauxhall Rubbish” they used to say;
“The bodywork just rots away.”
But what is this acclaimed by Press
At great expense, a new process.
Everything pickled, water traps abolished,
A new kind of paint, requires no polish.
One of this breed I must possess,
I out and bought a new X.
My pride and joy, four year’s or more.
Just turn the key and foot to the floor.
Mechanical parts replaced were few,
A gearbox link and ball-joint or two,
Wheel bearings replaced for good measure.
No breakdown I hope will spoil my leisure.
Performance high, consumption low,
At 43,000 all systems go.
I’ll double that distance without any bother
And then I may even convert it to hover.
But what is that light I see through the valance?
A hole in my car; no, not a chance.
Inquisitive fingers explore the rest.
Alas, I have no body left.
Foot to the floor? No, foot through the floor;
I’ll need glass-fibre and paint galore.
Put pencil to paper in me depression,
Have Vauxhalls still not learnt their lesson?
Gateshead. E. J. Cooper.
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