It was love at first sight.
I bought her for 50 Pounds, souped-up and thoroughly unreliable. One of her long list of previous owners must have a bit of a hippy because she was painted in a garish livery of yellow and bright purple. She was in seriously bad taste and it was a moot point whether or not she would survive her next M.O.T. test.
She was fun to drive though.
The end came as I was driving home late one snowy winter night from a pub on the edge the moors.
It was a beautiful night and flakes of snow fell thickly in my head lights as I drove slowly along the deserted white road bordered by a white ditch, a low white wall and beyond the white fields. Cold softness was all around and I could see in my rear-view mirror through the dancing flakes the double white tracks of impacted snow.
A bend in the road loomed and I turned the wheel accordingly but she had other ideas and just serenely carried on and crashed neatly into the ditch up against the wall.
I got out, shaken but not stirred, and just abandoned her, lying tilted into her little white ditch and already partially covered in the canopy of her white shroud and plodded stoically home across the snowy fields.
That was the last I saw of her.