Oh Rusty boy, the pipes the pipes are calling . . .

As some of you know, Rusty failed his annual MOT. For those that don't know what an MOT is, if a car is older than three years in the UK, you have to get it evaluated every year to ensure it is road worthy. They're all about their "health and safety" in England! Well, Rusty was due on my birthday but I didn't get it done until toward the end of the month. He failed- miserably. There was four or five things that I had to get fixed in order to pass and it would have been about 150GBP to do it. Plus, my road tax (kind of like a registration fee) had also expired and that was another 60 quid. Given I've only got a month and 14 days left in England (not to be too precise or anything) I decided it was time for Rusty to go to the scrap graveyard and meet with his other old neglected car friends. Steve, Bri's boyfriend (or should I say fiance!) helped me find a place and we all took it this morning. After driving among a few land fills and random engineering facillities we eventually found it. I had to drive Rusty on a large scale to be weighed and was offered 51GBP (his MOT cost 40). I accepted and we had to drive it round near a large crane-thingy. I had to take the tires with; they only wanted him for his metal. Typical males, they only ever want one thing! Steve loosened all the tires for me and then the crane man (clearly, I don't know what the hell these things are called so I'll refer to them in simplistic terms) lifted Rusty off the ground, shattering all his windows in the process. I was agasp in shock. Brianna stayed in the car, she was a bit intimidated by all the metal, broken glass and large threatening crane. I can't say I wasn't either, there was a lot of flinching going on. Rusty was smashed up a bit more and added to the pile to eventually be crushed further and become something new. Perhaps he'll be reincarnated as something useful; that would be nice.