All that's left of a car that's ceased to live the "Life of Riley" and now lies mouldering amongst the nettles and primroses of an unkempt farmyard.This motorised chariot will have no long fond farewell, driven by tweed-clad middle-aged men on fine summer evenings, trips to sunkissed meadows by gently flowing streams. Its leather upholstery will no longer feel the nurturing balm of soft cream nor the caress of giggling girls in flowing silk dresses. The rich blue bodywork will never again be polished to a deep and satisfying sheen, a mirrored finish that reflects the tartan cashmere rugs, the overloaded wicker baskets or the glistening magnums of champagne.
There will be no more picnics for Riley.
His time has past.
Rust on, old friend.
4 comments:
Ah, but Riley's just received a touching obituary.
Thanks, Pauline and thanks also for not mentioning the four spelling mistakes which I've now corrected (and so exposed a pedantic trait!). I wrote in a sudden fit of enthusiasm in the early hours of the morning.
"Sudden fit of enthusiasm" clearly works for you, Dave! How wonderfully written! :-)
Thanks, Susan, you're very kind. I don't have many such fits these days!
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