Originally Posted December 22nd, 2018
One Hundred And Fifty Thousand Miles. That’s enough to take you around the world approximately 38 times. It’s over half the distance between the Earth and the Moon. It’s also the number of miles that my car has racked up to date; and that car, believe it or not, is what this post is all about.
They say there’s nothing quite like your first car – and my current blue Honda Civic is mine. Now, I don’t want to misrepresent myself here – I am, genuinely, about as far removed from a petrol head as it’s possible to be. I’m also under no allusions about the vehicle I drive – a Honda is neither the flashiest nor the coolest car in the world (indeed, not by some great stretch). It’s reliable, but it’s not racy. It’s safe, but it’s not sexy. These things I know.
And yet … this one unassuming vehicle has been an unexpected constant throughout the past 7 and a half odd years of my life. It’s been with me through a grand total of 5 house moves, across 5 different cities. It’s been with me on my career journey from first year junior doctor, to fully fledged GP. It’s been with me through numerous break-ups, and made it easier to keep in touch with some of my closest friends. It’s the car that got me dubbed ‘Blue Car Neighbour’ for over 2 years by the slightly eccentric couple that I used to live next door to in Nottingham (who never bothered to learn my actual name until after I’d moved away). It’s taken me on trips all the way from Newcastle to Southampton (and to many places in between), on more journeys than I could possibly count. And now I’m about to trade it in, and upgrade to a newer model – a sort of indulgent Christmas present to myself. After next week, Harry the Honda will be no more.
Why, you may ask, did I choose to dub my car Harry (the obvious alliterative appeal aside)? Now therein lies a tale…
On a trip to L.A. back in 2007, my parents and I were browsing one afternoon at a shopping mall. My Mum (Inaam) was stood by a pop-up stall, failing to be won over by the admirably persistent salesperson. As my Mum began to walk away, the saleswoman threw her last, desperate roll of the dice:
“I’m curious – where are you from, m’aam?”
“England”, my Mum replied matter-of-factly. This was a ploy I had seen her make many times before – avoid giving a salesperson the full spiel of where she was born/her subsequent move to the UK, and they might just lose interest and give up.
“What’s your name?”, the saleswoman continued.
“Grace”, my Mum replied, not missing a beat.
The salesperson didn’t even try to hide her scepticism, when she suddenly saw my Dad approaching from the nearby escalator.
“Is that your husband, m’aam? What’s his name?”
My Mum then proceeded to take a long, searching look at my Dad (Hussain) – a man to whom, by that point, she had been married for 31 years. After what felt like an agonisingly long pause, she turned back to the saleswoman, shrugged, and replied: “Harry”.
Back in the Summer of 2011, I suddenly found myself in desperate need of a car. I had long since learned how to drive by that point, but hadn’t yet passed my test. However, I knew that my life circumstances were about to change; in just a few short months, I would be moving from Stoke to Burton-on-Trent (a town not exactly famed for its stellar public transport links), and a few months after that I would be embarking on my very first GP post, a job in which a car is essential. Suddenly, having a driving license was no longer a luxury – it was a necessity.
When I did thankfully pass my test in July of that year, my Dad made the incredibly selfless gesture of gifting me with his very own blue Honda Civic – a car that he’d initially bought for himself, and had been driving for less than 7 months. He told me that it’s what he thought my Mum (who had sadly passed away earlier in the year) would’ve wanted, since she and my Dad had bought my older brother’s very first car some years earlier.
There was no way I could possibly adequately thank my Dad for what he had done for me – bequeathing me what is, without doubt, the greatest gift I’ve ever received. The very least I could therefore do, I thought, was to name it in his honour: hence, it was forever more to be known as Harry the Honda.
So farewell, Harry – and thanks for everything; you’ve been a more significant part of my life in recent years than I ever could’ve realised. As Greg Anderson once said: “Focus on the journey, not the destination. Joy is found not in finishing an activity, but in doing it”.
Ramy’s World 