and I had to go rummaging among the pipes and clips and rubber caps packed around the engine bay to snap the bulb free. While they still make the spares I can keep the wagon rolling but you begin to accrue ailments. I try to stay on top of them but on damp November mornings you can feel the ache in the chassis and the tut-tut of grumpy, aged motors called to duty once again. They begin to yearn for the oil-pooled wrecking yard, the embrace of the crusher and the last star-bright flash of light as the melting pot settles over the burners.