True Love assures me of his eternal devotion, from the safety of his bachelor pad on the other side of the South Circular, but I confess I have spent the past days musing more and more often on the interesting topic of Lamborghini Dad at school.
I’ve never been the type to show even a moderate interest in cars, probably because I’ve never had the money to buy a nice one. I’ve always, even, looked down my button nose rather at those who spend forever discussing the wattage and circuitry and so forth of their vehicles. A car, I always held, is just a means of transport, and it would be silly to spend more time worrying about it than one spent thinking about a bus or train.
I now see that was a bit sweeping. A car, really, is just like a travelling house, and I completely see the point of having a nice house. Not that I am suggesting one should get curtains or cushions and install them in one’s car – though a nice red gingham check would look fresh and appealing – but one can spend time and trouble getting a pleasant car and looking after it, without being a total dork.
Which brings me to Lamborghini Dad. His car might be stretching the description of ‘nice’ a bit – it is a low-slung, shiny beast with a thunderous exhaust – but it certainly cuts a dash in the dusty streets around the school. Best of all, despite the fact that it is a bare inch above the ground and looks as though there is scarcely room to stow one leg of an anorexic supermodel, there seems to be a tardis-like amount of space for his two adorable little girls and their assorted swimming bags, violins, book bags, a trumpet and other school thingybobs.
Of course, there is hardly anything on the planet more appealing to women than a man who takes good care of his children. And a rich man, however unattractive physically, need never find himself short of company. Need I say Donald Trump to you? A Lamborghini, my kind friends tell me, retails at considerably more than a Ford Escort. You can see where I’m going with this.
Mrs Lamborghini need have no worries, though. My homewrecking days are so, so so over (naturally, TL did tell me there was no home to wreck, but I suppose it was stupid of me to believe him). The point is that I think it’s a very good sign that I am showing a flicker of interest in the outside world, in cars, and in life outside my own sorry tale. Progress!