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The Mikeyra was more than just a car. It was a way of life. It touched the hearts and captured the imagination of countless men, women and children.
It taught us so much – we learned to love. We learned not to judge a book by its cover. We learned patience. We learned that if your heart is pure then no challenge is too large. We learned the importance of always having a valid RAC membership.
So, the moment is upon us. A moment we all knew would arrive. But none of us wanted to face. It is time to say goodbye to the hallowed vehicle we have come to know, affectionately, as the Mikeyra.
So many memories it has given us. So many lives it has touched. So many adventures. So many words I could say. And I will. But not yet, for there are important rituals to be observed.
My friend Alex Boxall is getting on my nerves.
It’s not because he has better facial hair than me. It’s not even because of his relentless determination to turn every single worship song into a country number.
My mind has, on occasion, been known to wander.
One such occasion was in a recent meeting when my eye, eager for some sort of distraction, was caught by an empty candleholder. Unremarkable in and of itself, its main attraction was the astonishingly detailed warning label found inside it.
My mind has, on occasion, been known to wander.
Only occasionally of course. Most of the time I remain as focused and as single-minded as a harassed shopper determined to avoid eye contact with a charity fundraiser.
As you are quite possibly aware, at the start of each New Year I embark on the perilous quest that is the annual cleaning of my trusty steed, the Mikeyra. (Trusty steed is a metaphor. The Mikeyra is a car, not a horse. And cleaning is a literal term, rather than a euphemism for some sort of equine colonic irrigation)
Recently, I performed the required yearly cleansing ritual on my car, in order that it may be presented without blemish upon the day of reckoning.
The following is a list of things I found inside its rusty innards whilst completing the rite:
In this comfortingly weird corner of the Internet that I have fashioned for myself, I have always been wary of merely keeping a public journal.
I am more interested in surreal monologues on Scottish tennis players or absurd poetry about baked goods and American political leaders than in pouring out my heart or sharing my day-to-day mundanity for its own sake.
Last week marked a year since I was last able to sing properly.
It has been far and away the most frustrating year of my life.
I am not always the most punctual person.
Now I know – that must come as a surprise to you. I seem like a guy who has it all together, who would never dream of being so much as 10 seconds late to any of the various events, soirées and get-togethers at which his presence is required.