The Thin White Duke

Just recently a tall and remarkably thin old work buddy, a studio rep, known by those who loved him as Xymondo Teezy Weezy (referred to as "X" hereon in) contacted a mutual friend. They were reminiscing about back in the day. X shared a story, that it appears he could not forget. 

Well I thought I had, but it seems I had just buried it, such was my trauma at the time. Having been reminded of it again, I just want to say that as unhappy as I was at the time, today I can look back on and it and it makes me smile:

This is the story of  Xymondo and my (soon to be) one door Vauxhall Viva:

One sunny Saturday back in the 80s, I - for reasons that escape me now - gave X a lift into Camden from his garrett in Primrose Hill. Five minutes in, we found ourselves sitting at the traffic lights next to the old Black Cat Factory on Mornington Crescent, in the right hand lane of two lanes of traffic about to go right down toward the Euston Road, X in his usual "mutter, mutter" manner was talking for England, not allowing me to get a word in edgeways, whilst at the same time exiting my beloved Viva without due care and attention. Having vacated the car, he stood stooped (he is a very tall chap) with the door wide open, still chattering away, as the lights changed from red to amber, at which point I was probably nodding, shooing and trying to Get him to shut the door and go.

Unfortunately for me, the Passenger side door was open between the two axles of an articulated lorry in the lane to my left behind X and as the lorry pulled away (I, still waiting for X to fuck off basically) my passenger-side door went with it, wrenching the door , with a sickening metallic moan, wider than it should go, to the point where it was opened flush with the front wing.
"Oh fuck" said X over his shoulder muttering other inanities as he retreated from the scene suddenly in an extreme hurry. Once X and the door crushing artic had departed the scene, I climbed out of my side assessed the damage and literally had to kick the door shut, which it did eventually did, never to open again. 

The car was on borrowed time from that moment on, it played havoc with my love life, I mean no self respecting young lady was going to get into my Viva through the window, at least not sober. So it had to go, no matter what spin I put on it, it was hardly the General Lee*. 

I sold it for a "nifty" a month or so later to a Irish fella from Kilburn who looked like he was going to use it to move caravans around waste ground, but what did I know or care. I handed over the paper and it smoked out of my life. Thanks for that X, you complete git.

Today X is a respected member of a village community, (the mayor no less), of a small Suffolk town and the Viva, well who knows, its probably rotted to rust now in the bogs of Athlone.

Photo: Car pictured is The General Lee, not a Vauxhall Viva, trust me.

*For those of you not in the least petrolheaded, The General Lee was the Dodge Charger which was the real star of an 80s TV show called The Dukes of Hazard, which, being a tweaked up redneck muscle car  / back roads moonshine runner, had properly welded up doors so was only accessible through the windows on the passenger and drivers side.