Every young male who’s ever endured a rural upbringing will know of the elation felt the day their first four-wheeled chariot of freedom rolls in the front gate.

The car is the ultimate symbol of independence, especially in a country setting. You townies have it handy with your shops within walking distance and bus stops every twenty yards. You haven’t felt frustration until you’ve received a text from a local young one looking to go on a date only to find that Mammy’s brought the car to bingo. Oh the humanity!

My weapon of choice was an ’02 Renault Clio. The puke-green body work probably knocked €800 off the asking price for me. To this day, I’m still puzzled as to what the original purchaser was thinking. It earned me the nickname ‘The Green Goblin’ around the mean streets of Belturbet, but did I care? Like hell I did.

I christened her ‘Sheila’, and we did everything together. I really made Sheila my own. Around the rear-view mirror I hung a couple of ear tags that our beasts had jettisoned. Slapped on the bumper was the token ‘Fear the Deere’ sticker. On the back beside the word ‘Clio’ I’d cunningly glued on some plastic letters I’d bought off ebay. Sheila was now a ‘Clio TDi’ ... all 1.1 litres of her.

Assault on Sheila

She had her flaws, but I loved her and wouldn’t have changed a thing. So, you can imagine my dismay when I came out of the cinema last month to find that Sheia had been assaulted. Someone had rubbed against her and cracked one of the side-skirtings into pieces. There was no other damage done apart from that. The piece in question was a footlong bit of plastic that clipped on near the bottom of the door. It was barely noticeable to the naked eye, but I was devastated. Silage-tape based repair work was carried out in vain but the part spontaneously crumbled in my hands.

A quick fix at mass

However all was not lost. On a cool Sunday morning a few weeks back, not long after Sheila’s vicious attack, I found myself late for mass. As myself and Sheila chugged into the carpark my eyes lit up. Down at the end of one of the lines of cars sat a red Clio of the same vintage. I quickly headed in its direction, surveying the area around me. I needed to be quick...

A couple of subtle kicks and a screwdriver removed the side-skirt from red Clio quite easily, though my toe did ache slightly on the drive home. I’d clip her onto my vehicle later on. I didn’t hang around for the mass, just in case there’d been any witnesses.

Later that evening I nearly choked on my soup.

“Well, what was father Tom’s sermon like today?” my mother asked at the dinner table.

“Ehhhhh...he spoke of the importance of giving to those less fortunate so he did hi....”