WINE.

FOOD.

we found an old EH Holden ute, which had been a paddock-basher on a chook farm in Maiden Gully. It became our workhorse and we virtually built our house with the aid of this reliable ‘wheelbarrow’. Since then I have had a Commodore stationwagon (after the kids came along) and a Holden HJ ute, but then the Italians got to me again. I was seduced by a Lancia Beta Coupe. Another pretty Italian. Pretty, but rubbish. It had a broken back and gave me endless trouble. Where the Italians made reliable Fiats, they let the side down with the Lancia. That was it. No more Italians. We went French. A Pug. The most comfortable car I have ever driven, but it boiled every time I got stuck in traffic until one day, I blew it up coming over Big Hill one morning. ‘Merde! Sacré Bleu. C’est ça. Pas Plus!’. I turned Japanese. I have never been happier. Today, I would tell my 18-year-old self to go Japanese. Go early. Go Taiwanese, Chinese, or Czech. You can’t get a new Holden ute anymore. If you want something similar, you have to buy a Chevrolet from the General. Oh! The circle is not unbroken after all.

Postscript. I have lapsed again. I have something old, pretty and British under the covers at home. I can’t help myself.