The Heiress named it the mummy car because it was usually Mummy who drove her around in it. The mummy car made many a trip between Collingwood and South Melbourne in the peak-our traffic, with Grumpy Girl desperately trying to keep The Heiress amused by singing, playing word games and telling stories.
I bought the mummy car when Grump and Matt took The Heiress to Germany seven weeks ago but, owing to what Kinsley Amis called a “Bum Recital” (AAMI bum, roadworthy bum, VicRoads bum, City of Port Phillip bum, man-across-the-road-bum …) I only drove it for the first time today and will have to drive it home (in the dark) tonight.
For 40 years I have driven a manual car: the mummy car is automatic. There doesn’t seem to be enough for me to do. What have I forgotten? Gears? Clutch? Hardest of all is the leap of faith required to believe the car won’t roll back when I take my foot off the brake. Can it be true? I have done my last handbrake start? Corner of Toorak and Tooronga – bring it on!
I was very nervous this morning, grimly clutching the steering wheel and not daring to put the radio on (that’ll soon change – can’t get home without Francis and Ox). Then I tuned in to the good vibes left behind by Grumpy and The Heiress and knew I was safe. The wheels on the car would go round and round, round and round and the person in the car would be protected by familiar mitochondrial DNA, notwithstanding the driver behind going toot, toot, toot! Toot, toot, toot! All the way to town.
