Car disposal day

A sad, sad parting - my father's car, bought new in December 1992 (via Austin Rover's Journalist Discount Scheme), was finally taken away for scrap. It has been standing outside the house, undriven, since it's last drive out to the Polish War Memorial in Northolt in June 2018, where it failed to start. A rescue van came, the guy said the alternator was no longer charging the battery. And the clutch plate was slipping. Total cost of new clutch plate and a new alternator parts plus labour would have been around £350; you can buy a runner for less. Because my father reversed it into the wall, creasing the boot, right at the end of his driving days, the car was not suitable for restoration - too many bent panels.

Had it become a classic? In my younger days, a car over 20 years old would have been considered one - no vehicle excise duty to pay, cheap insurance - but now, a classic car is recognised by the state as 'historic' if built before January 1979 - 41 years.

It was SORNed (Statutory Off-Road Notice) and left in the drive where it had always stood since new, now as a gate guardian. A part of the landscape.

Below: from space, three views of the family house in West Ealing, the first from 1999, the earliest on Google Earth, the second from the spring of 2015, the third from last summer.

The last photo, 07:10 am, Tuesday 21 January 2020; over 27 years since it first arrived. There was an overnight frost, which made it hard for me to open the doors to place the documents and keys inside. I checked the interior for belongings and found about 65p in the hidey-hole for coins, a tiny leather football, a button, a till receipt, a pay-and-display parking ticket.

I came home from a business meeting in town, and it had gone. On the doormat - a cheque for £165 (exactly as much as the online scrap-car price calculator had quoted me) and the slip that I had to send to the Driver and Vehicle Licencing Agency. By the evening I had received via email a DVLA Certificate of Destruction, to print out and keep. Praise for the scrapping company, Redcorn - very efficient and trustworthy operator.

Below: the sight that greeted me on return home - note the moss, the tyre marks, the condensation drips from the exhaust pipe - and a small oil stain under where the sump would have been.

Gone - but never to be forgotten. In particular the smell of the interior, which reminded me of summer holidays in North Wales when the children were small. It will always be 'Dziadzia-Auto' to us.

An old post here, outlining the car's history with our family.

This time two years ago
Notes from the Arena of the Unwell

This time three years ago:
The magic of a dawn flight

This time four years ago:
Warsaw as a voivodship

This time six years ago:
Around town in the snow

This time eight years ago:
Reference books are dead

This time nine years ago:
A winter walk to work, and wet socks