Clint failed his annual M.O.T. test last Saturday afternoon. Because of that, I was not allowed to drive him away. He had to stay in the garage compound through the weekend and into Monday. The garage needed a special part - available only through the main Hyundai dealership. They couldn't provide that part until today - Wednesday afternoon - when the problem was finally solved.
Modern cars have washers for the front windscreen (American: windshield). Clint has two. The one on the passenger side was working fine but the one on the driver's side was either blocked or there was a pumping malfunction. I had previously tried to clear it with a needle but that had not worked. It never occurred to me that a washer refusal might take my vehicle off the road for five days.
And do you know how much that part and its fitting cost me on top of the M.O.T test? £10! Ten measly pounds - that's all (American $13). It's hard to believe. It doesn't seem so long ago that cars didn't even have windscreen washers.
When I left Clint in the compound last Saturday, he screamed plaintively, "Don't leaver me here Master! I am scared!"
He was sandwiched between two of those vulgar petrol-guzzling SUV's - the kind that yuppies like to drive or yummy mummies with Tarquin and Isabella in the rear child seats squabbling over slices of dried mango and Fair Trade chocolate peanuts.
I turned back to look at Clint's headlights. They looked so sad - like the eyes of a lost bloodhound - but what could I do? I had to steel myself and walk away. Like leaving a favoured son at a boarding school.
I need not have worried about Clint and what the big cars might do to him at night, locked in that compound next to the shady car wash business that seems to be manned by a succession of Albanian holidaymakers with plastic buckets and wash leathers.
As he watched me approach, he yelled "What are you doing here? Why don't you go home? I'm happy here!"
A red Ford Fiesta growled at me while a cute duck egg coloured Fiat 500 called Carol flashed her seductive headlights in Clint's direction.
It seems he had been having a grand old time down at the compound with the other stranded motor vehicles. The stand-in manager Kyle from Pontefract said he'd been watching their nocturnal behaviour on CCTV tapes and could not quite believe what they had been getting up to. They had partied like there was no tomorrow putting compressed air in their tyres and getting well-oiled. At the heart of it all there was Clint singing Clint Eastwood's greatest hits, including "Honky Tonk Man":-