exit a legend

My old man died five years ago. Five years, two months and thirteen days, to be precise.  On his 81st birthday.

You accumulate a lot of stuff in 81 years - which ended up being shared with my family and others, including the house I currently live in. And amongst all the stuff, he left a car. A car that he went on about constantly, to my complete incomprehension. (I'm sure it's very nice Dad... but it's only a Honda). Since the administration of his estate was a job that fell to me, I thought I'd better clean it up (he'd barely driven it for a year), drive it around for a bit to ensure it was still working and then get rid of it.

Instead, I fell in love with it.

It's a 12 year old KB1 Honda Legend. 3.5 litres of normally-aspirated 24v VTEC engine, delivering 296BHP.  At the time of writing, it has just under 29,000 miles on it and is pristine, with a full Honda service history.  Costing £570 a year to tax and struggling to reach 14mpg around town, she's a quite ridiculous vehicle to drive in any modern context - but I do few miles and she costs me near nothing in depreciation. An absolute joy to drive, she can drag her two tonnes to 60mph in seven seconds and makes the most glorious noise when you let your right foot loose. My friends all laugh at me for driving this car and I don't care. Because they know not of what they speak.

But... that bit about her being pristine is no longer quite true. Because, in mid-December, some dozy woman turned right STRAIGHT INTO THE SIDE OF ME from a sideroad as I returned from dropping Hatty at gym, along Smitham Bottom lane. 'I'm so sorry, I just didn't see you'.  Because she had her eyes shut presumably.​

Dozy woman's insurers - Admiral - pronounced the Legend a Cat S (structurally damaged) write-off. Absolute nonsense, which has led to a month of arguing, after which they had a change of heart (an MOT pass helped) and authorised repairs.  But this is a 12 year old car and Honda can't get a new door to the UK until May.  Ho hum really - I sealed up the gap between window and crumpled door with duct tape and have been happily driving her around for the last two months.

Returning from Birmingham this week - a 280 mile round trip - I'd made it all the way to the Reigate exit from the M25, when Waze suggested I might be better off taking a route through the narrow backroads of Chipstead to get home. I wish I'd ignored this advice, but I didn't.  I know those roads - but the several drivers around me probably also following Waze clearly didn't. Which is probably why another twonk piled into the back of me at the junction of Doghurst and Hazlewood lanes.

My insurer's agents have given me the dullest of VW Passats to drive around in, whilst arranging to get repairs assessed: this is an entirely separate claim. But, looking at the damage, I suspect this is the end of The Legend - this kick up the arse looks a lot more expensive to me, assuming they can even get the parts - and if they can, I'll probably be waiting until June for them.

It's a tragedy really. She might be 12 years old, but she'd probably go on for another 12 if twats didn't keep driving into her. This immaculate, beautiful car may only make one more journey.

To the scrapheap.