Look, I’ve got a garage.
With a wonky door, and lots of old cobwebs.
I’ve always wanted one, and throughout my motoring life I’ve always been slightly envious of car owners who get to keep their pride and joys clean, while the best of the British weather batters the rest that sleep on the streets.
Not all of the flats here have one, as there are 18 apartments and only 14 garages. I’ve been interested in one since I moved in January last year, but it’s only now that one has come up for rent.
Until now, the car has been parked a couple of roads away, in a respectable area, and this has been much the case ever since I bought it eight years ago. Regardless of where I’ve lived, it’s always lived outside.
Parking is allowed in the grounds and flat driveways, but only for visitors, and not for overnight stays. So, unloading the car after supermarket trips and days out results in moving the car back to the road a short distance away.
Trouble is, I’m not sure if I want the garage for the sake of keeping the car off the road as I mostly use it at weekends and to save those unloading trips back and forth, or because I have some romantic notion of opening the door and peeping into the darkness, and seeing that it’s safe.
A bit like those clichéd stories of unmolested classic cars found under dustsheets, in old-fashioned wooden-doored garages and barns up and down the land.
More on the car itself another time, but I’ve decided to give it a go for a couple of months and then look at the situation again.
A safe bet, or a safe house?
Only time will tell.