My ‘Minging’ Car

The filthy cesspit I call “my car” is very much unlike my husband’s car. His is sleek, shiny, new and smells of leather, aftershave and coffee.

My car is a 6-year old people carrier that smells of sour milk, Haribo and farts.

The reason for such a difference in the state of our respective automobiles is much to do with the fact that, aside from the many, many other hats we mums wear, I am the designated chauffeur to 3 delightful little children, who happen to love spilling milkshakes, eating Haribo and farting in my car (and also Sainsbury’s as it happens).

Today I made the dreadful error of deciding to ‘muck-out’ my four-wheeled friend and spent an hour wading (I do not use that expression lightly) through half-chewed sweets (some still wet), dagger-hard McDonald’s French fries, naked barbie dolls, pairs of one-legged sunglasses, old receipts, a shoe (????) and lots of misshapen solidified brown clumps, which I can only presume (and pray) to have been reconstituted chocolate.

When I had finished and sat back to survey my handiwork the car still looked horrendous (see above).

So here’s my handy guide to getting your car positively sparkling inside:-

1. Pay someone else to do it.

2. Don’t let your kids into it. Ever. Again.


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