Tart car...

"Coo-eeee", called Gloriette from her shiny new open-topped sports car, waiting at the traffic lights.

While the lights decided what to do next, and an old doll with a shopping basket like a wheelie bin had finally trundled onto the pavement and vanished into the chemist for yet more large tubes of Super-Violent Anusol, Scrobs went over to admire the gleaming paintwork, colourful displays, and softly padded accoutrements as well as the car! Gloriette giggled, and tried to pull her skirt down a half inch, making it go up more than an inch, while the gear lever looked invitingly close to her languid hand. 

"'Morning you gorgeous thing", murmured Scrobs, as he wondered about the inevitable peck on both cheeks, before realising that Gloriette was securely belted into this small space-ship, and unlikely to be able to rise to the occasion.

"Scrobs Sweetie, d'you like my new car"? she said, commencing her wiggle, whereby she just 'moves' all over herself, which is disconcerting at the best of times, let alone at a set of traffic lights, which were just about to turn green.

"Gloriette, it's marvellous, and no doubt Elias is pleased that you are able to catch the morning rays without having to lean out of the window too far, or open the sliding roof!"

Gloriette's new car is indeed rather like a space ship, with all sorts of bling and levers and switches which seem to do everything except drive the damn thing, and it is also clear that as her acreage is dangerously close to the steering wheel, she may well have invented a way of steering, turning on the MP3 player, selecting 6th gear and adjusting her seat height, just by leaning forward an inch or two, and doing one of her wiggles!

In fact, as a good friend of mine once mentioned, it is a car which deserves to have a sign in the side window which says, "No hairdressing materials are left in this car overnight"!

"Hee hee hee", cooed Gloriette,  as she let in the clutch while waving a gold bebangled arm which momentarily flashed like a lightning bolt, vanished round the corner and squealed into the supermarket car park. As Scrobs was also walking towards the same general location, he saw Gloriette reverse into a 'Mums and kids' space at about 40 mph, and screech to a halt. The long legs appeared in stages when the door opened, and the blood pressure of the assembled watchers rose by several points on the Richter Scale, as she swung out and stood up, pulling the short skirt down an inch, only for it to raise two more inches while she leaned over into the tiny back seat to retrieve a wicker shopping basket.

An elderly gentleman, wearing a gaberdine raincoat, and a shirt and tie, gaped and dropped a paper bag of apples as the accoutrements of one of the village's finest ladies moved gracefully towards the doors of the shop, and as the commotion died down, a small child, clutching the hand of it's mother called out in tinkling tones...

"Mummy, that's a Tart Car isn't it..."?

The mother stood on one leg, blushed, and immediately bent to admonish the infant.

"Darling, that's not really a very nice thing to say about people you know"!

"But Mummy, it IS a Tart Car"!

"Fiona, I won't tell you again, and you really must not be rude about people like that"!

The child fidgeted, looked sadly up at her mother's face and said softly: -

"But Mummy, it is a tart car, because it doesn't have a roof and it's open at the top, like a jam tart...!" 

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings...