The cobbler's children.......

.......who had no shoes.

Went to collect my car from the bodyshop where it is in for some minor surgery, following an unfortunate incident a while ago.

This heap of junk (for want of a better description) was sitting in a corner of the workshop, clearly not having been touched for months if not years.

I made some casual comment to the owner of the workshop along the lines of 'shouldn't that be in the scrap yard?' On reflection, this may have been a bit foolish, and may result in my eventual bill being artificially increased. It turns out it belongs to him.

Apparently (and he may be lying, for I know little about these things, always studiously avoiding Top Gear and its ghastly host Mr Clarkson), it's a Maserati. Of which he seemed immensely proud.

He even produced a car magazine (one of the kind that should be banished to the top shelf along with all the other lads' mags) and showed me a photo of what it will look like one day. When he gets round to renovating it.

Which I suspect will be around the same time as hell freezes over.