MOT…. We’re Gonna See You Skint!

Consequential of my car undergoing an annual MOT test, GJ Strachan is scribing today’s literary offering on the road.

As writing while highway in situ or driving a vehicle with laptop on knee is wantonly reckless, it goes without saying my penning ‘on the road’ revelation shouldn’t be taken literally. I’m, of course, inferring these observations are being journaled away from my usual lieu d’ecriture; ie, ordinarily a chamber within casa Strachan.

Thursday’s fingertip and keyboard union, yielding this creative composition, taking place in the waiting area of a Mercedes dealership. The vendor’s engineers in the process of testing my vehicles roadworthiness; their mission (if they decide to accept it) reporting and remedying any safety issues identified. Checks which hopefully won’t result in having to auction a kidney to settle a hefty remedial bill.

Awaiting news of your car’s roadworthiness during these yearly mandatory Ministry of Transport (MOT) checks is always an angst ridden occasion. Anxiety borne from knowledge any corrective work ordinarily results in budget busting costs.

In our prevailing ‘cost of living crisis’ zeitgeist, unexpectedly eye-watering bills are the last existential imposter anyone wants. A fact borne out when looking at the faces of fellow customers within the dealership rest area. Individuals no doubt with similar concerns about the receipt of unanticipated additional high expenditure.

Visages of trepidation not too dissimilar to those witnessed in a dentist’s waiting room, or how I envisage christians would’ve looked prior to being thrown to the lions in AD 50 Rome….. That being said, admittedly, awaiting a filling isn’t anywhere near as angst filled as contemplating upcoming death at the hands of lion’s jaw….. Or even the jaw of a lion’s hands….. Or should I say paws!

Despite my reservations about increased remedial part and labour costs consequential of owning a vehicle bearing the silver arrow logo, my driving experience compared to less prestigious cars I’ve owned during adulthood is infinitely more gratifying. The customer service and ambience whilst Mercedes dealership in situ also definitely more epicurean than previously experienced

“No s**t Sherlock!” I hear you mutter upon hearing yours truly’s hubristic and wholly self-evident boast.

As an acquaintance of mine ruefully proffered after an unfulfilling evening with an escort whose company cost him £10, “You definitely get what you pay for.”

Footnote – Incidentally, when writing ‘evening with an escort’ I’m of course referring to him spending time with a young lady charging for her company. Not he’d embarked on a candlelight dinner with a Ford Escort motor car; which clearly would be an absurd suggestion…. Particularly in in prevailing times when £10 worth of gasoline probably wouldn’t be enough to get the car to the nearest restaurant!!

With energy prices booming since price cap removals, it’s forecast that soon millions of UK citizens will soon have to choose between eating and heating. If the obesity of a guy sat on an adjacent table is a gauge of appetite, I suspect he’s gonna be subject to a severely cold winter…. That being said, like a walrus, his blubber may negate hypothermia if wintertide temperatures reach freezing.

I know that may sound cruel, heartless and insensitive; but he started it by trying to stuff me into a large baguette, smother me in mustard and eat me!

Anyhow, I’ve just received and paid my bill for the MOT test, along with costly brake pad and disk replacements reported as an advisory issue.

We Leeds United fans use the acronym MOT to signify ‘Marching on Together’. A clarion call by supporters borrowed from a 1970’s team song, urging club unity and advancement during both adversity and happier times.

The first two lines of this rousing refrain’s chorus emboldening fans into chanting “Marching on together (MOT), we’re gonna see you win!”…… Sadly, the Ministry of Transport’s version of MOT doesn’t see me win. It only see’s me skint!

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