Emissions ... Kilian Doyle blows his weekly gasket.
All right, bud? How's it going?
Ah, grand, and yerself? Just new in, are ye?
Yeah, my drunken eejit of an owner wrapped me round a lamppost in Drogheda last Tuesday. Shattered, I am, shattered. And you? How long have ye been stuck in this kip?
Been here eleven and a half months and counting. Rust is all I am, pure rust. Could be worse, though, some of these poor fellas have been here years. Look at that aul Citroën over there - don't see many of them about, do ya? Been stuck there coming up on eight years now, so he has, and a miserable b****x he is with it.
Are ye serious? I thought we'd be all chopped up and brand new in a few weeks? Jaysus, I was looking forward to emerging as a nice little Lotus Elise, so I was.
What are ye on about, son? That bang on the head done you no good, has it?
Nah, you don't understand. See, my owner was a great man for the rules. Had regulations coming out his ears. Just look what he did to me exhaust! More calibration than a sniper's rifle, so it has. So he told me not to worry as we were waiting for the cops. Said I'd be recycled and back on the road in no time. Said he was going to be put through the grinder too, but he didn't look too pleased about it, mind . ...
Ha ha ha, ya poor gobdaw! Ah, the gullible idealism of youth! Youse '01 reg fellers are all the same. Get real, son, this is backwards Ireland, not some fancy gaff like Holland or Germany! 'Tis a life of rust, mildew and rats piddling on your upholstery for you, pal, and no fancy emissions controls, twelve coats of paint or central locking systems'll save ye now.
What? Yer joking, aren't ye, say yer joking, won't ye? They can't just be leaving us here to rot! What about dem EU rules saying all cars have to be recycled within weeks? What about that?
What are ye talking about, son?
You mean you don't know? Listen, I've this cousin who came from the same car plant ad meself, right? He got smashed right into a canal in Amsterdam last February. Got turned into fourteen women's bicycles a week later, so he did. Never been happier, as I'm sure you'll understand. His seats got remodelled and are in some cinema, and he even said all his rubber parts got melted down and turned into nurse's uniforms, although I didn't understand that bit, it must be some mistake, sure he's probably all overcome with his good luck...
Lucky sod, but as I said, bud, this is Ireland. You're more likely to be picked apart, bit by bit, and thrown into the back of a Hiace in the middle of the night than get that kind of treatment.
But what about the rules?
Son, think about it. D'you think you'd be here if people obeyed the rules?
I see yer point, but I was just looking forward to not being a poxy 1.6-litre salesman's special anymore. I was so tired of driving up and down the M50 with that clown pumping out Mariah Carey all day. It's just not fair, why can't I be a nice little Porsche convertible or the front end of a Bentley?
Aw, bless yer little heart!! Lads, do youse hear this feller? Me tank's burstin' for him!
A radio somewhere among the crumpled hulks in the yard switches on. You Can't Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones pipes up. A cacophony of derision erupts. Every horn in the place toots, every radiator hisses, every door slams. All except those of our hapless young newly-wrecked, whose headlights blink once, then switch off forever.
He sleeps the sleep of the damned, dreaming of zooming down the open road in the south of France, Ferrari's prancing horse adorning his bonnet. But in reality he is doomed, at best, to a future as a rodent's flophouse. The horror, the horror . . .