Carwash Man

My poor car. I haven't washed it since... oh I don't know, well before Autumn anyway. I kind of lost heart a bit from the abuse it's been taking. Being street-parked, it is the equivalent of a nice lonesome lamppost for the scraggy little drunk strays who wander up and down the road on weekend nights looking for some territory to mark. One of them went to work on the bonnet (with a key presumably) and scratched a huge chubby penis and FU*K YOU (about 400 Euro worth), and more recently someone just walked over it, denting the bonnet and roof.

So it's been sitting there, filthy, mainly from all the sticky, resinous crud from falling sycamore leaves (the back garden is choaked with the things). My wife made the point that the more neglected it looks the more likely it might be to attract the attention of those bored little strays.

So I finally treated it. The carwash man who gave it a preliminary dousing remaked on the dented roof. Then, when he saw my camera on the passenger seat (just as I was entering the wash), he opened the door again and started on a long story about his love of photography and this woman artist who uses a camera (and paint? I wasn't clear) whose canvases sell for thousands... He was very friendly and nice, so I couldn't ask him to stop.

I didn't think I'd be taking any shots inside, till I saw this (above).