Reliving the childhood dream

Two years after putting the youngest’s swing set up for sale, I think I’ve finally found a buyer.

I originally had it on a local buy, swap and sell page, but I didn’t get any takers and forgot about it.

Energised by my success on Facebook Marketplace I decided to give it a go there.

There were zero bites until a woman contacted me yesterday and started asking lots of questions about it.

I panicked because it’s been sitting in the outdoor shed all that time and I had absolutely no idea what condition it was in.

I raced out and started flinging stuff in all directions as I tried to extract the various bits of timber from the shed. There were lots of cobwebs to be removed, a bit of mould on the trapeze and I had a devil of a job finding the bolts and screws.

The woman is supposed to be coming over today at lunchtime to collect it. Fingers crossed.

As you may recall, it once had pride of place in the youngest’s bedroom. I sent the buyer a pic of the youngest hanging upside down to show what it looks like assembled.

She wrote back: “Haha that’s awesome!!! Over her bed?! Childhood dreams right there.”

Yep, that was the idea. Not that the youngest would remember much about it, as she is a total goldfish.

They grow up way too fast, I felt quite forlorn looking at the swing-era photos of my cute little blondie.

It was a bit off-putting to see all the crap in the shed that needs to be moved to the nature strip for the council clean up, including two rat cages.

Actually, I’ve just realised that I left it all scattered down the side of the house yesterday, as I needed to rush off and get my good for nothing car back from its service.

The French receptionist bloke was blithe and cheery as he reaffirmed that Renault car window motors are notorious for carking it.

He nodded sagely when I said it was the second bloody one in seven years. He seemed to think that less than four years per motor was pretty spot on.

I also queried why my year-old engine required a new belt so soon and he looked very startled.

“It’s a new engine?!” he said. “I saw the belt they took out of the car and it was the same one it’s had since 2015.”

Riiiiight, so those dodgy bastards just put the old belt back in? Fabulous. And charged $12,000 for the privilege … luckily I only paid $3000 of that.

Well, it didn’t feel very lucky at the time.

There are new receptionists every time I go to the service centre. I reckon they must get sick of being yelled at by angry Renault owners and quit.

I didn’t yell. I am beyond yelling. My calm demeanor seemed to rattle him. He kept asking if I understood what he was telling me.

Oh yes, I understand. Renaults are pieces of shite and I will continue spreading the word to as many people as possible. Please make sure to warn all your friends and family.

In happier news, I get the keys to my new place on Friday. Ermagerd!

And a week after that I will have the cash to get rid of that cursed car and never have to visit that service centre again. Woo hoo!

Song of the day: Peter Gabriel “Sledgehammer”

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