Tuesday, February 05, 2013
I seem to have made the almost fatal mistake of fitting plasticine tyres to the peerless family grandad-mobile Volvo. Poor quality boots make an erroneous purchase if ever there was one. These mighty chunks of flawed rubber, installed two Venusian years ago have now sadly expired after a mere 14000 miles, mostly spent in orbit around the planet Fife. That's about the distance from here to somewhere else and that's not far enough and to prove it I have a failed MoT certificate to treasure and possibly frame. In dawn's early light, or at least by tomorrow evening I'll be up at the local Farmer's Auto to get proper replacements. This time I'm going to ensure they're made of the finest quality Pakistani plasticine, hand made from holy-cow dung, vulcanised and baked to sun dried road burning perfection. No more of that British or Eastern European rubbish either, I'm out for the best black circles money (up to at least £54 per tyre) can buy. Long may you run.