with apologies to R. Kipling

If you can maintain your car when all about you

Are abusing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you disgust yourself when all men discount you,

And refuse discount when they request it too;

If you can queue and not be tired by queuing,

Or being snide about the vehicle you drive,

Or what must be done – the hurt is in the doing,

And not the fifty-nine pounds ninety-five:

If you can dream - and not make your dream a Mazda;

If you can spend - and not throw money down the drain;

If you can beat a Triumph and be faster

By overtaking in the outside lane;

If you can bear to hear assurance spoken

By second-hand dealers who think you a fool,

Or watch that for which you saved a lifetime, broken,

Unable to repair without the tools:

If you can take it out without it spinning

And polish it to the highest gloss,

If you can name a value underpinning

So the insurer can't aggravate your loss:

If you can force engine, valve and rocker

To serve you long after they are shagged,

Along with exhaust, body, tyre and shocker -

No matter how much you are nagged.

If you can speed through town and keep your licence -

Convince the rozzers you were doing less,

Or do crazy, dumb-ass things that defy sense,

In order to alleviate your stress;

If you can keep what's underneath the bonnet

For one week's worth of miles to run,

Yours is the road and everything that's on it,

And – which is more –you'll be poor my son!

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