Eking the life out of all things old

Have spent long, hot morning in town with husband. He is great believer in keeping old things going for absolutely as long as he can, drawing from them their very last breath before he admits defeat and discards them: matters not whether they are cars, watches or lawnmowers.

Consequently spent hours trawling dodgy end of town for a headlight for our really, really old landcruiser (the one before the really old one I drive now which we’d hoped to sell but which every prospective buyer has turned their nose up at). Spent as many hours again trying to find a place to recharge old batteries of really, really old cruiser in hope of getting it started (so that we can return it to where it was parked before I pushed it down the drive in futile attempt to get it going; failed, so it has sat since – for past ten days – like white elephant in middle of lawn looking tired). I discovered there are literally hundreds of kiosks with ‘batteri charji’ facilities.

And then we collected the really, really old lawnmower from the workshop which has failed to do anything other than drag out its demise by a few days at a time whilst dragging copious amounts of cash from us in ‘repairs’. It’s complaining loudly as I write, begging to be allowed to retire.

Off to have a cup of tea, to ‘charji’ own ‘batteri’.

I suppose I ought to be grateful: perhaps husband’s apparent affection for all things old means there’s less chance he’ll discard me and opt for younger, faster model when he hits male menopause?

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