When we were students, myself and the older brother went off to America to work for the summer.

He got a job in an Irish bar in Queens and made an absolute fortune – all the Americans loved the ‘little guy with the adorable Irish accent’ – and then came home and bought a car. 

I worked as a security guard with a firm called Wackenhut out on Long Island and came home with just about enough to buy a ham sandwich. 

But the story of the car turned out to be a bit of a saga, and it’s one I’ve told many times. 

Awash with cash, the brother had toured the local garages and his quest ended when he absolutely fell in love with an Opel Manta. 

Now it wasn’t a Porsche or a top of the range Mercedes, but back in the day it had a certain cache, a car not to be sneezed at. 

And, of course, he had to have it. Love at first sight and all that. 

So he scraped up every dollar he had saved from his four months in New York, borrowed a few more quid from our parents, and about 24 hours later a lovely red Opel Manta – “only one previous owner, a careful lady driver”, according to the salesman – was parked outside the door. 

I recall that summer was a particularly good one and for about three weeks there wasn’t a drop of rain. 

But then one night there came an absolute deluge and in the morning, when the brother got into his pride and joy to head to his new job, he found water swirling around where the pedals were.

You have........

© The Irish News