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Lost Virginity

I blame my lack of hair, a tender epiglottis and a number of other far more minor issues, on the Daimler SP250 Dart.

Oh – add to that list a propensity to drool.  The drooling started when I was a pimply youth working out the back of our local Hardware store. My principle jobs were to fill thousands of secondhand whiskey and whisky bottles with Mineral Turps and thousands of old rum bottles with Kerosene and thousands of old Gin bottles with Methylated Spirits. The 9 hotels in our small town obviously were undertaking a civic duty by assisting in this early time recycling program and many a patron must have felt a certain familiarity with their paint thinners container.

My poorly paid but essential community service, was accomplished by the siphoning method. One placed a length of old garden hose into the bulk drum and sucked very carefully on the other end until that 6^th sense that made me an expert sucker and the towns most accomplished siphoner, told me to quickly transfer the hose from mouth to whiskey or whisky bottle before swallowing an eye watering quantity of turps.  Same applied to the Kero and Meths. Notice the casual familiarity with these volatile and highly flammable liquids – Turps, Kero, Meths.  By the way, did you know the word ‘methylate’ means to impregnate? So it’s not beyond the realms of my imagination to believe that my sisters ‘birds and bees’ education went along the lines of - “Do not in any circumstances get yourself methylated by those boys from town – or anywhere else for that matter”.  Isn’t it amazing what a good education does for one.

Having set the scene let me hasten on to add that, each Friday; a rich farmer’s son drove into town, probably with the intention of a bit of methylating after closing time. He always called at the hardware store to stock up on those necessities that a good hardware supplier always had available for farmers – particularly rich ones.  He parked only 1 yard and 2 feet from my siphoning station. This distance was critical and I confess to adjusting the position of my stool the first time he arrived so that I could drink in the full expanse of his magnificent car using my well developed peripheral vision. One gets well developed peripherals by always watching carefully out the corner of both eyes at the same time for the boss. For me, the challenge of accomplishing 1 hours work in 2 hours was an important aspect of my career training – and I can tell you it was valuable experience in latter years when I had lots of employees.  To catch a snake you must think like a snake. To this day I believe my peripheral vision is enviable and handy when the Mrs is sharing out the chocolates.

Young farmer always arrived punctually at 3.20pm on Fridays, so on that day I certainly made an effort to scurry from school to work on time. At 3.15 the particular fluide volitile du jour (volatile fluid of the day) would already be relocating from the drum to the correctly chosen receptacle and I would have set my 5 foot focus ready for the week’s best moment … the arrival of the Daimler SP250 Dart.  

I remember the first time well. It was Carrot Orange. Well, I only knew two oranges colours in those days – orange orange and carrot orange. It was definitely more carroty. Perhaps accentuated by the soft veneer of gravel dust and the stone chips along the door sills. Tan upholstery and best of all – wire wheels. It was beautiful. Beautiful in only the way an impressionable boy can experience when he is besotted by his first love. On my virgin exposure to this enchantress I was bewitched.  The highly flammable liquid under my management ran all over the ground and I suspect about 26 gallons ended up killing countless innocent frogs and fish in the nearby river. Never mind – for an SP250 I could accept the label of environmental vandal. It’s damn lucky young farmer wasn’t a smoker. He, I and the SP would have all been roast carrot.

While young farmer shopped I drooled. Oh how I drooled. I mastered the art in one lesson and must have damaged my drooling glands because they still work up a fine old flow when I see a nice classic sports car – and positively gush over an SP250

It was over all too quick. Mechanically I rescued to remainder of the environmental disaster and set about starting the siphon again. Unfortunately my mind had departed with the Dart. I swallowed a lungful of liquid. That’s how my epiglottis was tenderized.

I staggered back and upset the shelf where the newly filled bottles waited for corking. The fluid sprayed all over my head and stung like hell. I’m sure that killed of the follicles of the mane I had been carefully training to look like Elvis. 

Life was never the same after that. The counseling didn’t work so I gave up – and now I live with one – Cardinal. No, it’s not a Catholic, that’s the colour. Like Strawberry - with stone chips.