Woorde draai, rondomtalie, in my kop, wonder of dit ooit, gaan stop?
Washing my Jaguar late on a Sunday afternoon, suddenly brought back memories of a very young me.
My dad was a racer, and weekends we spend at the track. I remember the smell of burning oil, burning tyres, exhaust fumes and dust, in the summer heat, like yesterday.
Sometimes the wives would come with, but i was the only little girl allowed on the track, in the cars and in the garage.
On Sunday afternoons, as the sun kiss, the the day goodnight, it was time to was the cars.
I was allowed to wash the roofs, cause, I was small enough, not to dent the cars, while climbing all over them.
I also remember, Rothmans cigarette buds and half empty Lion beer cans. My dog, a cross between a Saint Bernard and a Husky, and I, would roam the track, smoking buds and emptying the beer cans. Sometimes we would see, wild love making (I thought it was wresteling and I could not understand why women, screamed, and nobody, came to her rescue).
My dad drove a Volvo and a beetle (my love for Herbie, comes from here). Sometimes he would won, sometimes he would crash and sometimes he would loose
But the smell of Rothmans, Lion Lager, dust, oil, tyres and summer will also remains in my heart, fondly.