I’m Just A Poor Boy – Nobody Loves Me

I’m one of those poor sods who plays the lottery each week. I know the chances of winning more than enough for a pizza are on the slim side. I stand more chance of being struck by lightning or by a passing Pagani Huarya as it rumbles down Market Street in Haddington.

The irony of that happening would not be lost on anyone. I lust over this car. I want one really quite badly. The sale of human organs is illegal in the UK so my only realistic hope, given the odds of a jackpot win on the lottery is to sell my soul instead. I’ve asked one of the minions of Hell just how much my soul is likely to raise and the answer is somewhat disappointing. It’s nearly 45 years old and been dented somewhat in the spiritual equivalent of a series of car park hit and runs. I’m the first to admit that it badly needs a service as a result of missing Mass for the last 20 years or so. It hasn’t had even as much as a run through a karmic car wash in all that time. We Buy Any Soul offered me a fiver for it and said they were doing me a favour. They said I could have got a lot more last year when they were running a Soul Scrappage Scheme. I could have got up to two thousand quid for it then against a new Hyundai i10. That was last year.

So, in my current impoverished state I’m not going to get close to getting the dosh together for one of these cars. The price hasn’t yet been announced. The order book will open at the car’s launch at Geneva, so I have a few weeks yet. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…