My Dad had sold his Corolla after a few years and bought an economical car that had surely been made for nothing more than pottering. But to snigger at his Daihatsu Charade would have been a mistake. Its little 3-cylinder engine proved as happy to do the German trips as most other modern cars, and it delivered better economy than many diesels.
Mother had years before given up driving by the time Dad died, so she sold the car to me. Unfortunately, it was already 30 years old and the willing, but hard-worked engine was knackered, along with much of the rest of it. I didn’t keep it for long: it was like chucking out a member of the family. If I didn’t shed a tear when it went, I should have.
The blue 5G stopped working in Sainsbury’s car park. Just like that. I towed it home. I replaced most of the ignition parts. It still wouldn’t work. We went through a jobby year on other fronts and I left it the garden. It’s still there, waiting for money and/or effort.
Another Lude came up for little dosh: a black one this time. It would do for spares, I thought. It turned out to be as least as good if not better than the first baby. As I’ve posted elsewhere, it was kind enough to take us to Norway and back. And more recently, Germany. Sweet!
(oh, alright, a picture this time)
