Narrow body, narrow mind / Shit car, shit haircut
The north Cotswolds in the growing season. This must be within a couple of days of picking up the Hillman Shitbox, because the car it replaced has yet to be taken up to the scrappy up at Hazleton. Yes, I am holding a pair of brake shoes in a confused manner, perhaps because my brother is talking rubbish.
Hillman Shitbox sounds like a minor Hitch-hiker's character.
Here I believe the full folly of my purchase is beginning to percolate through my head. I can't work out if those jeans are actually stonewash or just really well-worn. I'll bet stonewash and tight around the ankle. A steward's enquiry has determined them to be seriously faded black items. Phew.
... It's startling what you find when looking for something else. A vice and some sacking in my case. (Is hessian the same as burlap? If so, I have burlap sacks large enough to put people in.)
I don't know why people have such a downer on sackcloth and ashes. They remind me of my childhood.