A Very Privet Function

I have fallen in and out of love with each and every one of my motor vehicles.

I am not a collector or enthusiast and whilst I do know about and appreciate the big wide world of cars I can in no way be described as a petrol head.

As a small child I took a very early interest in types and models of transport. Apparently I could, at the age of 7, identify most of the cars to be seen on local roads but in retrospect, given that in the 1960's there were little or no european or japanese marques about, this must have been an easy process. Perhaps I just learned to repeat "Morris", "Austin", "Vauxhall", "Rover", "Jaguar" and "Ford" in some random order and this would fall about right on any particular road journey.

My own car use involved sharing a 1966 Mini with my sisters before I entered the workplace and thereafter was fortunate to have a ready succession of brand new or nearly new company cars. These ranged from a sedate Vanden Plas Mini Metro which had belonged to the wife of my employer at the time to hot hatch early XR2's and XR3's and progressing through to sensible Volvo Estates, a brief affair with a 200 BHP version in garnet red (it was categorically not pink in hue!!), a madcap couple of years with a Skoda VRS in what I called male menopausal metallic blue and then, at the age of 50, reversion to type and opting for my first Volkswagen Passat Estate.

A desire for speed, tyre squeals and posing does eventually take a back seat being replaced by a fascination for fuel economy, quality of in car digital radio and load carrying capability.

Of course the box on wheel that characterises the larger Volvo Station Wagons has superb flexibility to take all manner of goods and chattels. I did in my time greatly exceed the advisory kerbside weight by packing into that cavernous load bay various flat pack boxes from furniture stores, bulky electrical appliances, timber decking planks and all leaving tiny spaces to accommodate my three children, thankfully young and small at the time and two dogs.

On one nightime return drive from Ikea, fully laden to bursting point, I could only manage a top speed of 50mph on the M62 Motorway. Any faster and over any slight irregularity in the carriageway would certainly cause the Volvo to ground and produce a trail of sparks. Flaunting quite a few traffic laws and exhibiting an absence of any common sense I eventually made it home but after that the car did feel a bit odd as though the chassis were irrevocably bent out of shape from such abuse.

At one stage of loading up at the store it was touch and go whether my son, aged 8, would have to be left behind as his namesake "Billy" bookcase was occupying his seat. On the upside I did record an amazing 59 miles to the gallon on that axle dragging return drive, a figure never again acheived in that vehicle.

My late Father was a great fan of VW cars and in order owned and maintained a camper van, Squareback, 412LE, Mark 1 and 2 Scirocco's and my Mother still runs a Polo. It was an inevitable genetic fact that I would have a Volkswagen and this destiny was fulfilled a couple of years ago with a Passat Estate followed by my current latest model.

Parked next to a Volvo V70 there is a noticeable difference in not only physical size but also gross volume to a Passat.

In the early period of VW ownership I did have reservations over load capacity but my newest vehicle, just yesterday, proved its durability and pedigree as a cargo carrier.

I was helping my Mother in Law to remove a 5 foot high pile of vegetation which was the result of the grubbing up of a large privet hedge from her back yard. The heap was piled up against the rear wall of the house and was starting to give off a distinctive odour of summer decay, a bit like a field full of silage.

The debris comprised large cut sections macheted at the base and then laid flat and overlaid with smaller offcuts and loose leaves.

Tugging at the protruding woody staff-like growths brought out the larger 2 metre or so lengths and I laid these flat in readiness for taking through the covered passage walkway to the street. I had helped to plant the privet some 20 or so years ago and it had certainly thrived in the south facing aspect against the boundary fence. The strong stems were too thick to try to cut into smaller sections and would have to be fed through the the open tailgate after folding down the rear seats. It would be a much bigger job than I had initially thought.

Severed end first was easiest but after only a few insertions  the heads of foliage quickly filled up the open bay giving the appearance that the car was already full. It was a case of feeding through further stems one by one like threading a needle. There seemed to be no actual limit on how much could be squeezed in using this method.  Surprisingly the back yard pile began to diminish quite raidly.

My Mother in Law plied me with tea and sandwiches in between her own display of immense strength for an 85 year old in extracting more of the burgeoning compost heap and making a secondary pile for me to work on.

The Passat ate up the vegetation with ease and style plus large green hessian bags of the smaller offcuts which could be packed into any void areas behind the driver and front passenger seats.

After three very full car loads taken to the Civic Amenity Facility plus a total of 12 filled garden bags me and Maureen stood back to enjoy the sight of a cleared and sunny back yard inviting sitting out with little or no excuse.

It had been, for sure, a momentous task.

I had offered to help with the best intentions of a son-in-law but at many points in the operation I had seriously doubted my resolve and stamina to complete it. The part played by the Passat had been little short of heroic and by way of appreciation (as much as can be shown for a chunk of metal  on four wheels) I spent much of the afternoon hoovering and valeting.

Knowing now the potential for load carrying opens up endless opportunites. Watch that space.