...this is one of those things I inevitably learn the hard way.
I guess there's a number of places you shouldn't park in Australia. Under an African Sausage Tree would be one.
Under a possum would be another.
Sigh. So it was trade in time for Al/Big Gay Al, the old faithful van. Though trusty(ish) and loyal(ish) throughout it's service, it was twenty years old. It served as transient home/bed briefly, holiday camper, and as work vehicle and city runner.
However, practical is as practical does, fuel economy this, air-con that, blah blah blah.
Plus that ambiguous interstate registration thing was getting annoying. Honestly - South Australia and vehicle ownership
- it's like Mad Max 2 down there.
So, out with van - shuffle paper, etc. - in with car. Like the van, it's manual for your safety, so I play with less action-figures at the traffic lights... mos'ly.
Ahem - yeah, but what I didn't take into consideration was parking.
Don't park on-street because I don't haff to, plus I like having wing mirrors.
Now you can't fight nature, ya gots ta harmonize, see? But if harmonizing means scrubbing oily-thick-brown-tar-piss off the rear window and boot EVERY single day for the rest of your life then something is wrong.
I really do love possums, but this diagram needs editing...
Eh, what ya gonna'do? Didn't matter so much with the van, that thing was a huckery old queen anyway (I'm pretty sure it used to sneak off and hang around on ghost ships dressed up like the captain's wife), but the car is gonna' stand out in a bad way if it's perpetually dumped and slashed on.
So, it gets a car cover. Poor thing, now it looks like it's mother dresses it. Oh well, maybe I'll get myself a pocket protector and start wearing a shower cap outdoors so it doesn't feel alone.
Possum wins.
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| Melbourne street tolls - payable by mandarin and/or pizza |
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