The Twelve Months of Toby

Dear Santa

Toby. Toby Louran we call him, our car, a Touran.

Terrible Toby Louran on bad days, and there have been plenty of those in 2011 as my 12 months of Toby demonstrate (sing with me if you will...)

On the first month this year, my car, it took from me some money for a broken heater.
On the second month this year, my car, it took from me some money for a major service and broken air conditioning.
On the third month this year, my car, to took from me some money for an MOT.
On the fourth month this year, my car it took from me some money for AA cover after six hours on the hardshoulder being stranded.
On the fifth month this year, my car it took from me, some money for not one but two new Turbos after the garage stuffed the fitting of the first one.
On the sixth month this year, my car it took from me, some money for a purple tax disc.
On the seventh month this year, my car it took from me, some money for a full set of new tyres to replace the baldies.
On the eigth month this year, my car it took from me, some money for a new windscreen, damn you flying stones!
On the ninth month this year, my car it took from me, some money for a new tyre after hitting the curb and blowing the blasted thing to smithereens.
On the tenth month this year, my car it took from me, some money for insurance.
On the eleventh month this year, my car it took from me, some money for a new alternator after breaking down again, thank you AA.
On the twelfth month this year, my car it took from me, some money for two passenger-side tyres after hitting the kerb having an argument with an arrogant twat of a bus driver over right of way, and another major service because I do so many miles.

So Santa for Christmas, please may I have (on behalf of Terrible Toby Louran), a newer fresher model bought from the lottery ticket I'm slipping under my pillow on Christmas Eve, and a recovery truck for 8am on Boxing Day to pick up Terrible T to take him to the scrap yard where long may he rest in peace the useless piece of VW junk. His cards are marked and I need him to be good, else it may be me blowing a gasket on the 13th month.

Yours gratefully,

Mrs L.

p.s. Santa, if the scrap yard is closed on Boxing Day, please tell the driver of the recovery truck I'm cool with him dumping the car on the roadside in that crappy estate with the big tower blocks with broken windows and grafitti in east Leeds. Thank you.