Top Issue 1-2024

11 September 1997 Edition

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On closer inspection...

By Laurence McKeown

I took my car for an MOT test last week, as is the norm here every five years unless you are blessed with having a DLA (Disability Living Allowance) model which means you never drive anything more than a few years old. It was an early appointment, 8.20am. On my way to the inspection centre I had to pull into a garage and do the customary underbody wash. It makes the inspectors feel that you regard the examination with some degree of seriousness. Not to follow such protocol would be like walking into an academic examination without pen or pencil and not even bothering to ask if you could borrow one from someone. I felt I didn't want to antagonise the examiners any more than I had to.

Anyhow, I set to the task and ten minutes later had a spotlessly clean vehicle both underbody and on top. It gleamed. Actually I felt fairly clean myself, or not clean really but that feeling you have when you walk out of the shower - wet. The heavens had opened just after I had begun my cleansing operation. So, I arrived at the depot wet and uncomfortable.

Thankfully I didn't have long to wait before I was signalled into bay number 4 and the large steel shutters closed behind me. This was it. There was no going back. I've often regarded as con-jobs those pre-MOT tests that garages advertise because not only do you pay the garage but you also pay the MOT fee. Now if anyone is going to find a fault with your car it will be the MOT inspectors, so why not leave it to them. That's the theory, but sitting in the queue I began to think it might not have been such a bad idea to let someone give my car the once-over beforehand just to check for any stupid faults such as brake lights, indicators and the like. Too late now though.

The car in front was being examined in the closest detail. The inspector stooped, felt under the wings, opened the doors, turned the steering wheel and all manner of things. It was only when he came to look in the boot that I realised he sported one of the most expansive `Watergates' I have seen in a long time.

A Watergate, for those who do not know about these things, is a cover-up. In this instance it refers to those who are, shall we say, somewhat short of hair on top so they use what they have to hide the bare spots. Well this one was a cracker. The `shade' was at the back of his head, running horizontally in line with the top of his ears and all of the hair above that demarcation was combed forward. I was fascinated. From a full frontal view I had never guessed that my senses were being duped. It was such an intricate piece of work, closely interwoven, everything in place. Normal.

I began to ponder such questions as to how long it would take each morning to prepare such an exhibit? At what un-Godly hour must this man rise to complete the task? Did the masterpiece remain in place throughout the day or did it require renovations at periodic intervals?

My thoughts then turned to how I had been so easily deceived. I would never have known otherwise if I had not been able to `go behind the scenes', as it were. I would have been totally taken in by the image presented to me. This led me to ponder events current at the time. We had been told at first it was the paparazzi, then the speed, then the drink, the car, then back to the paparazzi. All very neat. Everything appeared normal, if tragic. It was the `Watergate' before my eyes that made me wonder, what if? I mean, where once there had been a `loose cannon', a source of embarrassment to royalty, there was now an icon. Where once there had been a thorn in the side of the arms manufacturers there was now a saint. And no danger of the heir to the English throne ever having an Arab moslem as step-father.

I was waved out of the depot, a slip of paper in my hand saying my vehicle was roadworthy for another year. I breathed in the fresh air. Thoughts turned to breakfast and freshly brewed strong coffee. Normal things again. Shucks, maybe it was just the fumes in the place.

An Phoblacht
44 Parnell Sq.
Dublin 1
Ireland