A dying breed

Twenty years ago you couldn't cross a French road without being knocked down by one. Now they are few and far between. I had one for a few years. It was orange. I loved it. Best car I ever owned. You could take it to bits with an adjustable spanner and a broken pen knife. Cold in the winter though.
We found another mouse. It was under Isobel's bed. It was dead and smelly and writhing with maggots. Blooming merveilleux I'm sure.