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It was pretty late when I figured out I was going to be homeless for the night. I’d tried regular hostels, offering them my passport and a promise to pay them when the banks opened. I can’t say I was surprised when I was turned down, usually in front of a gaggle of spectators queued up to buy themselves a berth for the night. It stuck with me, the feeling of embarrassment and shame I couldn’t find anywhere, but also how even those obviously concerned did nothing to help. Perhaps in those crowds there was someone willing to help, or lend me money for the night. That night they didn’t speak up, and as a consequence I found myself trawling through the streets in search of a quiet alleyway free of rats.
Of course I must contextualise this story, it would be unfair not to explain how I ended up where I did. Mine wasn’t a story of neglect or abuse, or long nights and winters of fear and deprivation. I wasn’t beaten or raised in a rare atmosphere of slurred accusations, peppered with curses, or the pinch of hunger or the cold night air. You could be sympathetic to such conditions by way of explanation. The reality was I’d lost my only debit card on a gap year abroad. Christchurch, New Zealand, was to be the setting for my personal weekend of penury. The banks had closed on the Friday night I’d discovered my slightly lighter wallet, and weren’t set to re-open until Monday.
I had around 5 dollars in change, which I spent on a hot dog while I watched parties of revellers, dressed in freshly washed clothes, heading off to the pub. I stood with my bag and clothes I’d been in since yesterday, hitchhiking and catching buses where I could. I lit a cigarette and pondered my position. Totally alone on the farthest side of the world to home, without money, late at night, is a curious condition to be in. There is ever present fear, but also a great deal of a historically ancient kind of shame. I reached into my bag and took out an old bush hat, pulling it down low and obscuring my face. I didn’t want anyone to see me, or worse, recognise me. The centre of the town was the wrong place to be.
I hitched up my bag and set out, stumbling towards an abandoned house I’d seen on the bus ride into town. An alleyway beside it looked promising, secluded. Better to hide myself away from society. I didn’t know what I was going to do for food, the contents of my satchel included some sweets and a leather hip flask filled with cheap vodka. It is amazing how quickly you fall into what you believe to be the stereotype of a homeless person, without realising it at the time I’d rapidly fallen from one completely oblivious section of society, to an entirely different level, with entirely different priorities.
After a cold and hungry night the next day I was fortunate to be picked up by a charity hostel worker passing by. I spent the next night feeling safe, secure and reading a biography of John Major I found in the shelf that passed for a library. Considering the sparseness of the hostel itself this was high entertainment. In truth I was glad of four walls and warmth, and with that could get on a plan the rest of my journey. Security like that is the most important part of any homeless hostel, its the foundations on which you build a person back up.
What I found most interesting, and what I’d like to talk about is how this experience made me reconsider homelessness. I can’t claim two nights without a bunk as a scared tourist has given me an insight into what it’s really like, what a daily grind life must be, but I let’s just say I don’t look at homeless people as if they’ve done something wrong any more. Thats where Shelter comes in. I’ve been impressed with the work of this charity for years, and they don’t just deal with homelessness any more. Thanks to the credit crisis, Shelter’s message is hitting home for more people than ever before.
Most people think Shelter just run homeless hostels, which they don’t. Most people think they only work with those living on the streets – they don’t. In fact, thanks to budget crunches (and some would argue, a lack of political will) Shelter has to do more than ever for even less money. Debt, eviction, repossession. These are issues that can affect everyone from an HSA claimant living in a £50 a week council property through to a middle aged homeowner struggling to refinance his mortgage. Homelessness, and how we consider those affected by it and the issues surrounding it is set to be a big issue if future anaemic growth continues.
I always think back especially fondly of my time in a country far away, but there’s something that troubles me, and has never gone away. For every charity worker who stumbles across someone without a bed for the night, clutching his bag and wrapped in his coat against the cold, there are ten or twenty people who saw that person on his way to that alleyway, and did nothing. In a future dominated by charity as a social safety net, can we afford such an attitude? “Nothing to do with me” has long been the cry, but perhaps it should be “That might have been me”.

A GiveACar intern's account of homelessness and why the charity Shelter has a special place.

It was pretty late when I figured out I was going to be homeless for the night. I’d tried regular hostels, offering them my passport and a promise to pay them when the banks opened. I can’t say I was surprised when I was turned down, usually in front of a gaggle of spectators queued up to buy themselves a berth for the night. It stuck with me, the feeling of embarrassment and shame I couldn’t find anywhere, but also how even those obviously concerned did nothing to help. Perhaps in those crowds there was someone willing to help, or lend me money for the night. That night they didn’t speak up, and as a consequence I found myself trawling through the streets in search of a quiet alleyway free of rats.
Of course I must contextualise this story, it would be unfair not to explain how I ended up where I did. Mine wasn’t a story of neglect or abuse, or long nights and winters of fear and deprivation. I wasn’t beaten or raised in a rare atmosphere of slurred accusations, peppered with curses, or the pinch of hunger or the cold night air. You could be sympathetic to such conditions by way of explanation. The reality was I’d lost my only debit card on a gap year abroad. Christchurch, New Zealand, was to be the setting for my personal weekend of penury. The banks had closed on the Friday night I’d discovered my slightly lighter wallet, and weren’t set to re-open until Monday.
I had around 5 dollars in change, which I spent on a hot dog while I watched parties of revellers, dressed in freshly washed clothes, heading off to the pub. I stood with my bag and clothes I’d been in since yesterday, hitchhiking and catching buses where I could. I lit a cigarette and pondered my position. Totally alone on the farthest side of the world to home, without money, late at night, is a curious condition to be in. There is ever present fear, but also a great deal of a historically ancient kind of shame. I reached into my bag and took out an old bush hat, pulling it down low and obscuring my face. I didn’t want anyone to see me, or worse, recognise me. The centre of the town was the wrong place to be.
I hitched up my bag and set out, stumbling towards an abandoned house I’d seen on the bus ride into town. An alleyway beside it looked promising, secluded. Better to hide myself away from society. I didn’t know what I was going to do for food, the contents of my satchel included some sweets and a leather hip flask filled with cheap vodka. It is amazing how quickly you fall into what you believe to be the stereotype of a homeless person, without realising it at the time I’d rapidly fallen from one completely oblivious section of society, to an entirely different level, with entirely different priorities.
After a cold and hungry night the next day I was fortunate to be picked up by a charity hostel worker passing by. I spent the next night feeling safe, secure and reading a biography of John Major I found in the shelf that passed for a library. Considering the sparseness of the hostel itself this was high entertainment. In truth I was glad of four walls and warmth, and with that could get on a plan the rest of my journey. Security like that is the most important part of any homeless hostel, its the foundations on which you build a person back up.
What I found most interesting, and what I’d like to talk about is how this experience made me reconsider homelessness. I can’t claim two nights without a bunk as a scared tourist has given me an insight into what it’s really like, what a daily grind life must be, but I let’s just say I don’t look at homeless people as if they’ve done something wrong any more. Thats where Shelter comes in. I’ve been impressed with the work of this charity for years, and they don’t just deal with homelessness any more. Thanks to the credit crisis, Shelter’s message is hitting home for more people than ever before.
Most people think Shelter just run homeless hostels, which they don’t. Most people think they only work with those living on the streets – they don’t. In fact, thanks to budget crunches (and some would argue, a lack of political will) Shelter has to do more than ever for even less money. Debt, eviction, repossession. These are issues that can affect everyone from an HSA claimant living in a £50 a week council property through to a middle aged homeowner struggling to refinance his mortgage. Homelessness, and how we consider those affected by it and the issues surrounding it is set to be a big issue if future anaemic growth continues.
I always think back especially fondly of my time in a country far away, but there’s something that troubles me, and has never gone away. For every charity worker who stumbles across someone without a bed for the night, clutching his bag and wrapped in his coat against the cold, there are ten or twenty people who saw that person on his way to that alleyway, and did nothing. In a future dominated by charity as a social safety net, can we afford such an attitude? “Nothing to do with me” has long been the cry, but perhaps it should be “That might have been me”.

A GiveACar intern's account of homelessness and why the charity Shelter has a special place.

A GiveACar intern's account of homelessness and why the charity Shelter has a special place.

It was pretty late when I figured out I was going to be homeless for the night. I’d tried regular hostels, offering them my passport and a promise to pay them when the banks opened. I can’t say I was surprised when I was turned down, usually in front of a gaggle of spectators queued up to buy themselves a berth for the night. It stuck with me, the feeling of embarrassment and shame I couldn’t find anywhere, but also how even those obviously concerned did nothing to help. Perhaps in those crowds there was someone willing to help, or lend me money for the night. That night they didn’t speak up, and as a consequence I found myself trawling through the streets in search of a quiet alleyway free of rats.
Of course I must contextualise this story, it would be unfair not to explain how I ended up where I did. Mine wasn’t a story of neglect or abuse, or long nights and winters of fear and deprivation. I wasn’t beaten or raised in a rare atmosphere of slurred accusations, peppered with curses, or the pinch of hunger or the cold night air. You could be sympathetic to such conditions by way of explanation. The reality was I’d lost my only debit card on a gap year abroad. Christchurch, New Zealand, was to be the setting for my personal weekend of penury. The banks had closed on the Friday night I’d discovered my slightly lighter wallet, and weren’t set to re-open until Monday.
I had around 5 dollars in change, which I spent on a hot dog while I watched parties of revellers, dressed in freshly washed clothes, heading off to the pub. I stood with my bag and clothes I’d been in since yesterday, hitchhiking and catching buses where I could. I lit a cigarette and pondered my position. Totally alone on the farthest side of the world to home, without money, late at night, is a curious condition to be in. There is ever present fear, but also a great deal of a historically ancient kind of shame. I reached into my bag and took out an old bush hat, pulling it down low and obscuring my face. I didn’t want anyone to see me, or worse, recognise me. The centre of the town was the wrong place to be.
I hitched up my bag and set out, stumbling towards an abandoned house I’d seen on the bus ride into town. An alleyway beside it looked promising, secluded. Better to hide myself away from society. I didn’t know what I was going to do for food, the contents of my satchel included some sweets and a leather hip flask filled with cheap vodka. It is amazing how quickly you fall into what you believe to be the stereotype of a homeless person, without realising it at the time I’d rapidly fallen from one completely oblivious section of society, to an entirely different level, with entirely different priorities.
After a cold and hungry night the next day I was fortunate to be picked up by a charity hostel worker passing by. I spent the next night feeling safe, secure and reading a biography of John Major I found in the shelf that passed for a library. Considering the sparseness of the hostel itself this was high entertainment. In truth I was glad of four walls and warmth, and with that could get on a plan the rest of my journey. Security like that is the most important part of any homeless hostel, its the foundations on which you build a person back up.
What I found most interesting, and what I’d like to talk about is how this experience made me reconsider homelessness. I can’t claim two nights without a bunk as a scared tourist has given me an insight into what it’s really like, what a daily grind life must be, but I let’s just say I don’t look at homeless people as if they’ve done something wrong any more. Thats where Shelter comes in. I’ve been impressed with the work of this charity for years, and they don’t just deal with homelessness any more. Thanks to the credit crisis, Shelter’s message is hitting home for more people than ever before.
Most people think Shelter just run homeless hostels, which they don’t. Most people think they only work with those living on the streets – they don’t. In fact, thanks to budget crunches (and some would argue, a lack of political will) Shelter has to do more than ever for even less money. Debt, eviction, repossession. These are issues that can affect everyone from an HSA claimant living in a £50 a week council property through to a middle aged homeowner struggling to refinance his mortgage. Homelessness, and how we consider those affected by it and the issues surrounding it is set to be a big issue if future anaemic growth continues.
I always think back especially fondly of my time in a country far away, but there’s something that troubles me, and has never gone away. For every charity worker who stumbles across someone without a bed for the night, clutching his bag and wrapped in his coat against the cold, there are ten or twenty people who saw that person on his way to that alleyway, and did nothing. In a future dominated by charity as a social safety net, can we afford such an attitude? “Nothing to do with me” has long been the cry, but perhaps it should be “That might have been me”.

A GiveACar intern's account of homelessness and why the charity Shelter has a special place.

Ah, the post-Christmas bloat. A general sense of over-indulgence powered by excess. Too much spending, too much eating, too much TV. No wonder then that the New Year is the time to make resolutions, motivated as we are by the vague sense of guilt and the desire to make some sort of amends for having eaten one of those massive tins of Quality Street. (On your own.) (In record time.)

So we say we shall make ourselves better this year. We will not sit in front of the TV for hours on end, we will not eat ‘bad’ food, we will stop drinking too much at weekends. Unlikely? Almost definitely. The problem is that resolving NOT to do something is utterly dull. No one wants to stick to a regime of abstinence, and surely this is the reason why most New Year’s Resolutions are dead in the water by the halfway through January.

So this year, why not resolve to DO something? Isn’t saying ‘yes’ to something is infinitely preferable to saying ‘no’? Instead of focusing on self-improvement, why not take crack at making things better for others? This is what the charities we support are all about- positive changes for people, animals and the environment. Giving time or money to help your favourite cause could represent a New Year’s Resolution that’s actually possible to stick to. Rewarding both in terms of knowing you’re doing something good, and also when you get to feel smug when the good intentions of your friends have long since fallen by the wayside.

And you won’t be alone! We here in the Giveacar office have some new resolutions too! The seven hundred charities that we are registered with are so diverse in terms of size and aims, and we are proud to be associated with each and every one of them. It’s great to know that every time we receive a vehicle it will go to one of these fantastic causes. With that in mind, our aim this year is to find out even more about them. Before Christmas, two of us had pleasure of visiting the Starlight Foundation, a charity that makes dreams come true for very sick children. The team there made us feel so welcome, and we learnt a lot about how they work. We hope that in 2012 we can do the same with many of the other charities that we support. After the wonderful time we had visiting Starlight, we’re sure that this will be a New Year’s Resolution that we won’t have trouble keeping.

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Ah, the post-Christmas bloat. A general sense of over-indulgence powered by excess. Too much spending, too much eating, too much TV. No wonder then that the New Year is the time to make resolutions, motivated as we are by the vague sense of guilt and the desire to make some sort of amends for having eaten one of those massive tins of Quality Street. (On your own.) (In record time.)

So we say we shall make ourselves better this year. We will not sit in front of the TV for hours on end, we will not eat ‘bad’ food, we will stop drinking too much at weekends. Unlikely? Almost definitely. The problem is that resolving NOT to do something is utterly dull. No one wants to stick to a regime of abstinence, and surely this is the reason why most New Year’s Resolutions are dead in the water by the halfway through January.

So this year, why not resolve to DO something? Isn’t saying ‘yes’ to something is infinitely preferable to saying ‘no’? Instead of focusing on self-improvement, why not take crack at making things better for others? This is what the charities we support are all about- positive changes for people, animals and the environment. Giving time or money to help your favourite cause could represent a New Year’s Resolution that’s actually possible to stick to. Rewarding both in terms of knowing you’re doing something good, and also when you get to feel smug when the good intentions of your friends have long since fallen by the wayside.

And you won’t be alone! We here in the Giveacar office have some new resolutions too! The seven hundred charities that we are registered with are so diverse in terms of size and aims, and we are proud to be associated with each and every one of them. It’s great to know that every time we receive a vehicle it will go to one of these fantastic causes.
With that in mind, our aim this year is to find out even more about them. Before Christmas, two of us had pleasure of visiting the Starlight Foundation, a charity that makes dreams come true for very sick children. The team there made us feel so welcome, and we learnt a lot about how they work. We hope that in 2012 we can do the same with many of the other charities that we support. After the wonderful time we had visiting Starlight, we’re sure that this will be a New Year’s Resolution that we won’t have trouble keeping.

Ah, the post-Christmas bloat. A general sense of over-indulgence powered by excess. Too much spending, too much eating, too much TV. No wonder then that the New Year is the time to make resolutions, motivated as we are by the vague sense of guilt and the desire to make some sort of amends for having eaten one of those massive tins of Quality Street. (On your own.) (In record time.)

So we say we shall make ourselves better this year. We will not sit in front of the TV for hours on end, we will not eat ‘bad’ food, we will stop drinking too much at weekends. Unlikely? Almost definitely. The problem is that resolving NOT to do something is utterly dull. No one wants to stick to a regime of abstinence, and surely this is the reason why most New Year’s Resolutions are dead in the water by the halfway through January.

So this year, why not resolve to DO something? Isn’t saying ‘yes’ to something is infinitely preferable to saying ‘no’? Instead of focusing on self-improvement, why not take crack at making things better for others? This is what the charities we support are all about- positive changes for people, animals and the environment. Giving time or money to help your favourite cause could represent a New Year’s Resolution that’s actually possible to stick to. Rewarding both in terms of knowing you’re doing something good, and also when you get to feel smug when the good intentions of your friends have long since fallen by the wayside.

And you won’t be alone! We here in the Giveacar office have some new resolutions too! The seven hundred charities that we are registered with are so diverse in terms of size and aims, and we are proud to be associated with each and every one of them. It’s great to know that every time we receive a vehicle it will go to one of these fantastic causes. With that in mind, our aim this year is to find out even more about them. Before Christmas, two of us had pleasure of visiting the Starlight Foundation, a charity that makes dreams come true for very sick children. The team there made us feel so welcome, and we learnt a lot about how they work. We hope that in 2012 we can do the same with many of the other charities that we support. After the wonderful time we had visiting Starlight, we’re sure that this will be a New Year’s Resolution that we won’t have trouble keeping.

[summary] => [format] => filtered_html [safe_value] =>

Ah, the post-Christmas bloat. A general sense of over-indulgence powered by excess. Too much spending, too much eating, too much TV. No wonder then that the New Year is the time to make resolutions, motivated as we are by the vague sense of guilt and the desire to make some sort of amends for having eaten one of those massive tins of Quality Street. (On your own.) (In record time.)

So we say we shall make ourselves better this year. We will not sit in front of the TV for hours on end, we will not eat ‘bad’ food, we will stop drinking too much at weekends. Unlikely? Almost definitely. The problem is that resolving NOT to do something is utterly dull. No one wants to stick to a regime of abstinence, and surely this is the reason why most New Year’s Resolutions are dead in the water by the halfway through January.

So this year, why not resolve to DO something? Isn’t saying ‘yes’ to something is infinitely preferable to saying ‘no’? Instead of focusing on self-improvement, why not take crack at making things better for others? This is what the charities we support are all about- positive changes for people, animals and the environment. Giving time or money to help your favourite cause could represent a New Year’s Resolution that’s actually possible to stick to. Rewarding both in terms of knowing you’re doing something good, and also when you get to feel smug when the good intentions of your friends have long since fallen by the wayside.

And you won’t be alone! We here in the Giveacar office have some new resolutions too! The seven hundred charities that we are registered with are so diverse in terms of size and aims, and we are proud to be associated with each and every one of them. It’s great to know that every time we receive a vehicle it will go to one of these fantastic causes.
With that in mind, our aim this year is to find out even more about them. Before Christmas, two of us had pleasure of visiting the Starlight Foundation, a charity that makes dreams come true for very sick children. The team there made us feel so welcome, and we learnt a lot about how they work. We hope that in 2012 we can do the same with many of the other charities that we support. After the wonderful time we had visiting Starlight, we’re sure that this will be a New Year’s Resolution that we won’t have trouble keeping.

Ah, the post-Christmas bloat. A general sense of over-indulgence powered by excess. Too much spending, too much eating, too much TV. No wonder then that the New Year is the time to make resolutions, motivated as we are by the vague sense of guilt and the desire to make some sort of amends for having eaten one of those massive tins of Quality Street. (On your own.) (In record time.)

I am a commuter. A proper hard-core commuter. I am one of those sleepy-eyed creatures that stumbles onto a grey train from a commuter-belt town. Beneath that ineffective and half-conscious exterior however, we commuters are ruthless masterminds when it comes to securing a seat on the busy morning service up to the capital. In the vicious competition not to be the one left standing, I suddenly become an arch-villain, capable of elbowing fragile old ladies and darling little children out of the way (if they were foolish enough to venture out at that time of the morning, that is. Luckily, for the moment my callous attitude remains purely hypothetical).

Thoughts of dignity calmly cast out of those funny train windows, I become that person who snores, drools and snuggles up to other passengers in my quest to be well-rested by the time I get to the office. I like to think that everyone else is so numbed by the whole process of commuting that normal social mores do not apply. After nap time comes wake-up time. During the ten minutes grace between East Croydon and Clapham I put on the clubbiest music I own in an attempt to stir from my stupor. Alighting, I leg it to the connecting platform, weaving in and out of the human traffic to make it to the local train that will take me to my destination, breathing a sigh of relief as I arrive and hot-foot it out of the clamour of Putney station. Here ends my drudge of a journey.

I had a reality check the other day however when I was heading home from work. As I legged it onto the platform to make the train that was just pulling up, my attention was caught by two beautiful Labradors sat on the platform. I registered the glossy fur, the alertness; then I saw the hi-vis jackets and the message they carried: ‘I am a guide dog’. I watched as the animals efficiently led their two owners onto the train, and I suddenly realised what a breeze my commute is. There are so many scenarios in life that I couldn’t imagine being able to carry out without the gift of sight, and negotiating train stations at peak times is definitely one of them. The number of people is perilous enough when you can rely on your eyes to guide you through. A quick check of the boards asserts whether I’m going to need to run for my train, or if, yet again, it’s been delayed. Taking for granted my ability to see, I had never previously considered how hard it would be for those who are blind or partially sighted.

Thanks to their trusty friends however, those two men were able to mitigate the difficulties of London’s rush hour. Guide dogs are truly a lifeline, allowing people to carry on without their disability depriving them of their autonomy. That is why we are so proud to be supporters of charities which are involved in providing guide dogs. So much training and patience goes into making those canine companions not only pets, but small-time heroes, permitting freedom of movement for people whose independence would otherwise be compromised. Their lives don’t have to come to a standstill. It’s a shame the same can’t always be said about the trains.

[summary] => [format] => filtered_html [safe_value] =>

I am a commuter. A proper hard-core commuter. I am one of those sleepy-eyed creatures that stumbles onto a grey train from a commuter-belt town. Beneath that ineffective and half-conscious exterior however, we commuters are ruthless masterminds when it comes to securing a seat on the busy morning service up to the capital. In the vicious competition not to be the one left standing, I suddenly become an arch-villain, capable of elbowing fragile old ladies and darling little children out of the way (if they were foolish enough to venture out at that time of the morning, that is. Luckily, for the moment my callous attitude remains purely hypothetical).

Thoughts of dignity calmly cast out of those funny train windows, I become that person who snores, drools and snuggles up to other passengers in my quest to be well-rested by the time I get to the office. I like to think that everyone else is so numbed by the whole process of commuting that normal social mores do not apply.
After nap time comes wake-up time. During the ten minutes grace between East Croydon and Clapham I put on the clubbiest music I own in an attempt to stir from my stupor. Alighting, I leg it to the connecting platform, weaving in and out of the human traffic to make it to the local train that will take me to my destination, breathing a sigh of relief as I arrive and hot-foot it out of the clamour of Putney station. Here ends my drudge of a journey.

I had a reality check the other day however when I was heading home from work. As I legged it onto the platform to make the train that was just pulling up, my attention was caught by two beautiful Labradors sat on the platform. I registered the glossy fur, the alertness; then I saw the hi-vis jackets and the message they carried: ‘I am a guide dog’. I watched as the animals efficiently led their two owners onto the train, and I suddenly realised what a breeze my commute is. There are so many scenarios in life that I couldn’t imagine being able to carry out without the gift of sight, and negotiating train stations at peak times is definitely one of them. The number of people is perilous enough when you can rely on your eyes to guide you through. A quick check of the boards asserts whether I’m going to need to run for my train, or if, yet again, it’s been delayed. Taking for granted my ability to see, I had never previously considered how hard it would be for those who are blind or partially sighted.

Thanks to their trusty friends however, those two men were able to mitigate the difficulties of London’s rush hour. Guide dogs are truly a lifeline, allowing people to carry on without their disability depriving them of their autonomy. That is why we are so proud to be supporters of charities which are involved in providing guide dogs. So much training and patience goes into making those canine companions not only pets, but small-time heroes, permitting freedom of movement for people whose independence would otherwise be compromised. Their lives don’t have to come to a standstill. It’s a shame the same can’t always be said about the trains.

I am a commuter. A proper hard-core commuter. I am one of those sleepy-eyed creatures that stumbles onto a grey train from a commuter-belt town. Beneath that ineffective and half-conscious exterior however, we commuters are ruthless masterminds when it comes to securing a seat on the busy morning service up to the capital. In the vicious competition not to be the one left standing, I suddenly become an arch-villain, capable of elbowing fragile old ladies and darling little children out of the way (if they were foolish enough to venture out at that time of the morning, that is. Luckily, for the moment my callous attitude remains purely hypothetical).

Thoughts of dignity calmly cast out of those funny train windows, I become that person who snores, drools and snuggles up to other passengers in my quest to be well-rested by the time I get to the office. I like to think that everyone else is so numbed by the whole process of commuting that normal social mores do not apply. After nap time comes wake-up time. During the ten minutes grace between East Croydon and Clapham I put on the clubbiest music I own in an attempt to stir from my stupor. Alighting, I leg it to the connecting platform, weaving in and out of the human traffic to make it to the local train that will take me to my destination, breathing a sigh of relief as I arrive and hot-foot it out of the clamour of Putney station. Here ends my drudge of a journey.

I had a reality check the other day however when I was heading home from work. As I legged it onto the platform to make the train that was just pulling up, my attention was caught by two beautiful Labradors sat on the platform. I registered the glossy fur, the alertness; then I saw the hi-vis jackets and the message they carried: ‘I am a guide dog’. I watched as the animals efficiently led their two owners onto the train, and I suddenly realised what a breeze my commute is. There are so many scenarios in life that I couldn’t imagine being able to carry out without the gift of sight, and negotiating train stations at peak times is definitely one of them. The number of people is perilous enough when you can rely on your eyes to guide you through. A quick check of the boards asserts whether I’m going to need to run for my train, or if, yet again, it’s been delayed. Taking for granted my ability to see, I had never previously considered how hard it would be for those who are blind or partially sighted.

Thanks to their trusty friends however, those two men were able to mitigate the difficulties of London’s rush hour. Guide dogs are truly a lifeline, allowing people to carry on without their disability depriving them of their autonomy. That is why we are so proud to be supporters of charities which are involved in providing guide dogs. So much training and patience goes into making those canine companions not only pets, but small-time heroes, permitting freedom of movement for people whose independence would otherwise be compromised. Their lives don’t have to come to a standstill. It’s a shame the same can’t always be said about the trains.

[summary] => [format] => filtered_html [safe_value] =>

I am a commuter. A proper hard-core commuter. I am one of those sleepy-eyed creatures that stumbles onto a grey train from a commuter-belt town. Beneath that ineffective and half-conscious exterior however, we commuters are ruthless masterminds when it comes to securing a seat on the busy morning service up to the capital. In the vicious competition not to be the one left standing, I suddenly become an arch-villain, capable of elbowing fragile old ladies and darling little children out of the way (if they were foolish enough to venture out at that time of the morning, that is. Luckily, for the moment my callous attitude remains purely hypothetical).

Thoughts of dignity calmly cast out of those funny train windows, I become that person who snores, drools and snuggles up to other passengers in my quest to be well-rested by the time I get to the office. I like to think that everyone else is so numbed by the whole process of commuting that normal social mores do not apply.
After nap time comes wake-up time. During the ten minutes grace between East Croydon and Clapham I put on the clubbiest music I own in an attempt to stir from my stupor. Alighting, I leg it to the connecting platform, weaving in and out of the human traffic to make it to the local train that will take me to my destination, breathing a sigh of relief as I arrive and hot-foot it out of the clamour of Putney station. Here ends my drudge of a journey.

I had a reality check the other day however when I was heading home from work. As I legged it onto the platform to make the train that was just pulling up, my attention was caught by two beautiful Labradors sat on the platform. I registered the glossy fur, the alertness; then I saw the hi-vis jackets and the message they carried: ‘I am a guide dog’. I watched as the animals efficiently led their two owners onto the train, and I suddenly realised what a breeze my commute is. There are so many scenarios in life that I couldn’t imagine being able to carry out without the gift of sight, and negotiating train stations at peak times is definitely one of them. The number of people is perilous enough when you can rely on your eyes to guide you through. A quick check of the boards asserts whether I’m going to need to run for my train, or if, yet again, it’s been delayed. Taking for granted my ability to see, I had never previously considered how hard it would be for those who are blind or partially sighted.

Thanks to their trusty friends however, those two men were able to mitigate the difficulties of London’s rush hour. Guide dogs are truly a lifeline, allowing people to carry on without their disability depriving them of their autonomy. That is why we are so proud to be supporters of charities which are involved in providing guide dogs. So much training and patience goes into making those canine companions not only pets, but small-time heroes, permitting freedom of movement for people whose independence would otherwise be compromised. Their lives don’t have to come to a standstill. It’s a shame the same can’t always be said about the trains.

I am a commuter. A proper hard-core commuter. I am one of those sleepy-eyed creatures that stumbles onto a grey train from a commuter-belt town. Beneath that ineffective and half-conscious exterior however, we commuters are ruthless masterminds when it comes to securing a seat on the busy morning service up to the capital. In the vicious competition not to be the one left standing, I suddenly become an arch-villain, capable of elbowing fragile old ladies and darling little children out of the way (if they were foolish enough to venture out at that time of the morning, that is.

As any car knows that when you spend extended periods of time with a human you are bound to have some good times and some bad. Let me tell you that I have spent extended times with a Giveacar intern named Edmund. This story entitled life in the fast lane is all about my admiration for driving with Edmund

Let me start with my name which is Mr Panda Fiat. I am of Italian extraction although my steering wheel is on the left. I am less than five years old and in that time have seen much of London and have even ventured to Sussex and Wiltshire. I am not an everyday kind of guy more of a once in a while kinda of dude. My horn is not loud, my radio not clear and my boot is no spacious but I can park in any spot that is a metre long and three foot across.

I remember first being introduced to Edmund all those years ago and I knew we were going to get on. Since that time I have had the pleasure of his company on numerous trips. He will step in, adjust the driver’s seat so that it is close to the steering wheel, turn on Heart FM open the window and like that we are ready to go. The greatest pleasure is when he is at the wheel. This is because he is such a great driver and knows his way around the roads too well! When he is at the wheel I am comfortable and confident that everything is going to be ok. I know his generosity only too well and that he is only too prepared to give lifts to others.

What can I do but admit that I enjoy driving when Edmund is at the wheel? It is a pleasure and an honour to have such a kindly intern at the steering wheel. If only all the interns at Giveacar were as kind to their cars as Edmund, it would make the world a more mechanically pleasant place.

As any car knows that when you spend extended periods of time with a human you are bound to have some good times and some bad. Let me tell you that I have spent extended times with a Giveacar intern named Edmund. This story entitled life in the fast lane is all about my admiration for driving with Edmund
Let me start with my name which is Mr Panda Fiat. I am of Italian extraction although my steering wheel is on the left. I am less than five years old and in that time have seen much of London and have even ventured to Sussex and Wiltshire. I am not an everyday kind of guy more of a once in a while kinda of dude. My horn is not loud, my radio not clear and my boot is no spacious but I can park in any spot that is a metre long and three foot across.
I remember first being introduced to Edmund all those years ago and I knew we were going to get on. Since that time I have had the pleasure of his company on numerous trips. He will step in, adjust the driver’s seat so that it is close to the steering wheel, turn on Heart FM open the window and like that we are ready to go.
The greatest pleasure is when he is at the wheel. This is because he is such a great driver and knows his way around the roads too well! When he is at the wheel I am comfortable and confident that everything is going to be ok. I know his generosity only too well and that he is only too prepared to give lifts to others.
What can I do but admit that I enjoy driving when Edmund is at the wheel? It is a pleasure and an honour to have such a kindly intern at the steering wheel. If only all the interns at Giveacar were as kind to their cars as Edmund, it would make the world a more mechanically pleasant place.

As any car knows that when you spend extended periods of time with a human you are bound to have some good times and some bad. Let me tell you that I have spent extended times with a Giveacar intern named Edmund. This story entitled life in the fast lane is all about my admiration for driving with Edmund

Let me start with my name which is Mr Panda Fiat. I am of Italian extraction although my steering wheel is on the left. I am less than five years old and in that time have seen much of London and have even ventured to Sussex and Wiltshire. I am not an everyday kind of guy more of a once in a while kinda of dude. My horn is not loud, my radio not clear and my boot is no spacious but I can park in any spot that is a metre long and three foot across.

I remember first being introduced to Edmund all those years ago and I knew we were going to get on. Since that time I have had the pleasure of his company on numerous trips. He will step in, adjust the driver’s seat so that it is close to the steering wheel, turn on Heart FM open the window and like that we are ready to go. The greatest pleasure is when he is at the wheel. This is because he is such a great driver and knows his way around the roads too well! When he is at the wheel I am comfortable and confident that everything is going to be ok. I know his generosity only too well and that he is only too prepared to give lifts to others.

What can I do but admit that I enjoy driving when Edmund is at the wheel? It is a pleasure and an honour to have such a kindly intern at the steering wheel. If only all the interns at Giveacar were as kind to their cars as Edmund, it would make the world a more mechanically pleasant place.

As any car knows that when you spend extended periods of time with a human you are bound to have some good times and some bad. Let me tell you that I have spent extended times with a Giveacar intern named Edmund. This story entitled life in the fast lane is all about my admiration for driving with Edmund
Let me start with my name which is Mr Panda Fiat. I am of Italian extraction although my steering wheel is on the left. I am less than five years old and in that time have seen much of London and have even ventured to Sussex and Wiltshire. I am not an everyday kind of guy more of a once in a while kinda of dude. My horn is not loud, my radio not clear and my boot is no spacious but I can park in any spot that is a metre long and three foot across.
I remember first being introduced to Edmund all those years ago and I knew we were going to get on. Since that time I have had the pleasure of his company on numerous trips. He will step in, adjust the driver’s seat so that it is close to the steering wheel, turn on Heart FM open the window and like that we are ready to go.
The greatest pleasure is when he is at the wheel. This is because he is such a great driver and knows his way around the roads too well! When he is at the wheel I am comfortable and confident that everything is going to be ok. I know his generosity only too well and that he is only too prepared to give lifts to others.
What can I do but admit that I enjoy driving when Edmund is at the wheel? It is a pleasure and an honour to have such a kindly intern at the steering wheel. If only all the interns at Giveacar were as kind to their cars as Edmund, it would make the world a more mechanically pleasant place.

As any car knows that when you spend extended periods of time with a human you are bound to have some good times and some bad. Let me tell you that I have spent extended times with a Giveacar intern named Edmund. This story entitled life in the fast lane is all about my admiration for driving with Edmund

Ah, the John Lewis Christmas ad. Triggering responses ranging from the moistening of an eye to the outrage of mortified Smiths fans. If you haven’t seen it then you may have been living in a box, and in all honesty, the rest of this will make very little sense to you. So for those of you who apparently have had apparently no access to a television, the internet or any newspapers in the last fortnight then have a quick look on youtube and meet me back here in five.

Right, all done? So…are you teary or indignant? These seem to be the two main reactions to this little nugget of marketing gold, in which an adorably liquid-eyed mite impatiently watches the time tick away until the 25th. Keen for presents, we assume, remembering those interminable Christmas-eve vigils of our own childhoods. But no, the heart-wrenching/ vomit-inducing twist (delete as applicable) is that the little boy is so excited not because of what he might get, but what he’s going to give. He bypasses his own presents in his rush to give his parents the clumsily wrapped box in a moment that he has spent a month anticipating.

There are plenty of haters of this advert. Charlie Brooker in the Guardian bemoaned people’s heartfelt response to it, pointing out that it was just sickly promotional material for a shop. Now, I’m not one for the syrupy sentimentality and Mr Brooker in my eyes rarely gets it wrong, but on this occasion I just can’t pitch my tent in the cynic’s camp. I’ve seen this video several times now and it still gets me. I love the ending, so thoroughly debunking the usual stereotype of spoilt brats on Christmas ads whose love for their parents is directly proportional to how much money has been spent on tacky bits of plastic. I literally couldn’t care less that the John Lewis ad is on exactly the same bent as the ghastly Littlewoods monstrosity which is offensive on so many levels. It really doesn’t bother me that it is produced by a big retailer in an attempt to win my money, because the advert in no way compels me to run out and spend, spend, spend.

My appreciation, as I think does other people’s, stems from the selflessness behind the act depicted. The mass approval of the public is not proof of the manipulative success of consumerism, but instead the exact opposite. It suggests a desire to move away from the ‘greed is good’ slogan; a slogan that may have been crushed with the close of the eighties, only to re-emerge unpleasantly in the ensuing festive seasons as people scramble to buy bigger and better. Maybe in face of austerity and tighter belts, the public are happy to sacrifice this mantra to the pleasure not of receiving, but in the enjoyment of giving. Rather than taking part in the desperate bid to accumulate, we find ourselves looking to give what we can. We see this sort of selfless generosity every day here at Giveacar when people chose to donate to their favourite charities via us. The satisfaction of doing something for somebody else’s benefit truly does prove to be its own reward both in the advert and in our office. So perhaps it’s time to throw off the cynic’s cap and accept that maybe the festive season has not become completely about the retail sector. Surely one of the great things about Christmas is that it gives even the most hard-hearted of us the licence to indulge in a little sentimentality, something which the John Lewis ad and opportunities for acts of selflessness permit us. And all in all, that seems to be no bad thing.

Ah, the John Lewis Christmas ad. Triggering responses ranging from the moistening of an eye to the outrage of mortified Smiths fans. If you haven’t seen it then you may have been living in a box, and in all honesty, the rest of this will make very little sense to you. So for those of you who apparently have had apparently no access to a television, the internet or any newspapers in the last fortnight then have a quick look on youtube and meet me back here in five.

Right, all done? So…are you teary or indignant? These seem to be the two main reactions to this little nugget of marketing gold, in which an adorably liquid-eyed mite impatiently watches the time tick away until the 25th. Keen for presents, we assume, remembering those interminable Christmas-eve vigils of our own childhoods. But no, the heart-wrenching/ vomit-inducing twist (delete as applicable) is that the little boy is so excited not because of what he might get, but what he’s going to give. He bypasses his own presents in his rush to give his parents the clumsily wrapped box in a moment that he has spent a month anticipating.

There are plenty of haters of this advert. Charlie Brooker in the Guardian bemoaned people’s heartfelt response to it, pointing out that it was just sickly promotional material for a shop. Now, I’m not one for the syrupy sentimentality and Mr Brooker in my eyes rarely gets it wrong, but on this occasion I just can’t pitch my tent in the cynic’s camp. I’ve seen this video several times now and it still gets me. I love the ending, so thoroughly debunking the usual stereotype of spoilt brats on Christmas ads whose love for their parents is directly proportional to how much money has been spent on tacky bits of plastic. I literally couldn’t care less that the John Lewis ad is on exactly the same bent as the ghastly Littlewoods monstrosity which is offensive on so many levels. It really doesn’t bother me that it is produced by a big retailer in an attempt to win my money, because the advert in no way compels me to run out and spend, spend, spend.

My appreciation, as I think does other people’s, stems from the selflessness behind the act depicted. The mass approval of the public is not proof of the manipulative success of consumerism, but instead the exact opposite. It suggests a desire to move away from the ‘greed is good’ slogan; a slogan that may have been crushed with the close of the eighties, only to re-emerge unpleasantly in the ensuing festive seasons as people scramble to buy bigger and better. Maybe in face of austerity and tighter belts, the public are happy to sacrifice this mantra to the pleasure not of receiving, but in the enjoyment of giving. Rather than taking part in the desperate bid to accumulate, we find ourselves looking to give what we can. We see this sort of selfless generosity every day here at Giveacar when people chose to donate to their favourite charities via us. The satisfaction of doing something for somebody else’s benefit truly does prove to be its own reward both in the advert and in our office. So perhaps it’s time to throw off the cynic’s cap and accept that maybe the festive season has not become completely about the retail sector. Surely one of the great things about Christmas is that it gives even the most hard-hearted of us the licence to indulge in a little sentimentality, something which the John Lewis ad and opportunities for acts of selflessness permit us. And all in all, that seems to be no bad thing.

Ah, the John Lewis Christmas ad. Triggering responses ranging from the moistening of an eye to the outrage of mortified Smiths fans. If you haven’t seen it then you may have been living in a box, and in all honesty, the rest of this will make very little sense to you. So for those of you who apparently have had apparently no access to a television, the internet or any newspapers in the last fortnight then have a quick look on youtube and meet me back here in five.

Right, all done? So…are you teary or indignant? These seem to be the two main reactions to this little nugget of marketing gold, in which an adorably liquid-eyed mite impatiently watches the time tick away until the 25th. Keen for presents, we assume, remembering those interminable Christmas-eve vigils of our own childhoods. But no, the heart-wrenching/ vomit-inducing twist (delete as applicable) is that the little boy is so excited not because of what he might get, but what he’s going to give. He bypasses his own presents in his rush to give his parents the clumsily wrapped box in a moment that he has spent a month anticipating.

There are plenty of haters of this advert. Charlie Brooker in the Guardian bemoaned people’s heartfelt response to it, pointing out that it was just sickly promotional material for a shop. Now, I’m not one for the syrupy sentimentality and Mr Brooker in my eyes rarely gets it wrong, but on this occasion I just can’t pitch my tent in the cynic’s camp. I’ve seen this video several times now and it still gets me. I love the ending, so thoroughly debunking the usual stereotype of spoilt brats on Christmas ads whose love for their parents is directly proportional to how much money has been spent on tacky bits of plastic. I literally couldn’t care less that the John Lewis ad is on exactly the same bent as the ghastly Littlewoods monstrosity which is offensive on so many levels. It really doesn’t bother me that it is produced by a big retailer in an attempt to win my money, because the advert in no way compels me to run out and spend, spend, spend.

My appreciation, as I think does other people’s, stems from the selflessness behind the act depicted. The mass approval of the public is not proof of the manipulative success of consumerism, but instead the exact opposite. It suggests a desire to move away from the ‘greed is good’ slogan; a slogan that may have been crushed with the close of the eighties, only to re-emerge unpleasantly in the ensuing festive seasons as people scramble to buy bigger and better. Maybe in face of austerity and tighter belts, the public are happy to sacrifice this mantra to the pleasure not of receiving, but in the enjoyment of giving. Rather than taking part in the desperate bid to accumulate, we find ourselves looking to give what we can. We see this sort of selfless generosity every day here at Giveacar when people chose to donate to their favourite charities via us. The satisfaction of doing something for somebody else’s benefit truly does prove to be its own reward both in the advert and in our office. So perhaps it’s time to throw off the cynic’s cap and accept that maybe the festive season has not become completely about the retail sector. Surely one of the great things about Christmas is that it gives even the most hard-hearted of us the licence to indulge in a little sentimentality, something which the John Lewis ad and opportunities for acts of selflessness permit us. And all in all, that seems to be no bad thing.

Ah, the John Lewis Christmas ad. Triggering responses ranging from the moistening of an eye to the outrage of mortified Smiths fans. If you haven’t seen it then you may have been living in a box, and in all honesty, the rest of this will make very little sense to you. So for those of you who apparently have had apparently no access to a television, the internet or any newspapers in the last fortnight then have a quick look on youtube and meet me back here in five.

Right, all done? So…are you teary or indignant? These seem to be the two main reactions to this little nugget of marketing gold, in which an adorably liquid-eyed mite impatiently watches the time tick away until the 25th. Keen for presents, we assume, remembering those interminable Christmas-eve vigils of our own childhoods. But no, the heart-wrenching/ vomit-inducing twist (delete as applicable) is that the little boy is so excited not because of what he might get, but what he’s going to give. He bypasses his own presents in his rush to give his parents the clumsily wrapped box in a moment that he has spent a month anticipating.

There are plenty of haters of this advert. Charlie Brooker in the Guardian bemoaned people’s heartfelt response to it, pointing out that it was just sickly promotional material for a shop. Now, I’m not one for the syrupy sentimentality and Mr Brooker in my eyes rarely gets it wrong, but on this occasion I just can’t pitch my tent in the cynic’s camp. I’ve seen this video several times now and it still gets me. I love the ending, so thoroughly debunking the usual stereotype of spoilt brats on Christmas ads whose love for their parents is directly proportional to how much money has been spent on tacky bits of plastic. I literally couldn’t care less that the John Lewis ad is on exactly the same bent as the ghastly Littlewoods monstrosity which is offensive on so many levels. It really doesn’t bother me that it is produced by a big retailer in an attempt to win my money, because the advert in no way compels me to run out and spend, spend, spend.

My appreciation, as I think does other people’s, stems from the selflessness behind the act depicted. The mass approval of the public is not proof of the manipulative success of consumerism, but instead the exact opposite. It suggests a desire to move away from the ‘greed is good’ slogan; a slogan that may have been crushed with the close of the eighties, only to re-emerge unpleasantly in the ensuing festive seasons as people scramble to buy bigger and better. Maybe in face of austerity and tighter belts, the public are happy to sacrifice this mantra to the pleasure not of receiving, but in the enjoyment of giving. Rather than taking part in the desperate bid to accumulate, we find ourselves looking to give what we can. We see this sort of selfless generosity every day here at Giveacar when people chose to donate to their favourite charities via us. The satisfaction of doing something for somebody else’s benefit truly does prove to be its own reward both in the advert and in our office. So perhaps it’s time to throw off the cynic’s cap and accept that maybe the festive season has not become completely about the retail sector. Surely one of the great things about Christmas is that it gives even the most hard-hearted of us the licence to indulge in a little sentimentality, something which the John Lewis ad and opportunities for acts of selflessness permit us. And all in all, that seems to be no bad thing.

Ah, the John Lewis Christmas ad. Triggering responses ranging from the moistening of an eye to the outrage of mortified Smiths fans. If you haven’t seen it then you may have been living in a box, and in all honesty, the rest of this will make very little sense to you. So for those of you who apparently have had apparently no access to a television, the internet or any newspapers in the last fortnight then have a quick look on youtube and meet me back here in five.

I struggled to muster the energy to do even this. It’s not only that I can’t really understand the zeal of car enthusiasts, who love the ins-and-outs of an engine and even find the noise a thrill (why?!), but that’s not the real issue. There are a lot of things that other people get excited about that I just don’t get (football, new technology, The X Factor) and that’s completely fine. To each their own.

Yesterday I was asked if I was interested in cars. Working in an office where our life source is the donations raised from scrapped and auctioned autos, the reaction that clearly is required to that is probably, “Of course!” or at the very least a noise that sounds vaguely enthusiastic.
I struggled to muster the energy to do even this. It’s not only that I can’t really understand the zeal of car enthusiasts, who love the ins-and-outs of an engine and even find the noise a thrill (why?!), but that’s not the real issue. There are a lot of things that other people get excited about that I just don’t get (football, new technology, The X Factor) and that’s completely fine. To each their own.
The main reason that I don’t feel more attached to our four-wheeled friends is that I hate the actual process of driving. Don’t get me wrong, in theory it appeals. Convenience, the joy of windy country roads, breaking out the ballads at top volume knowing no one can hear me, safe as I am in my metal container. But there’s always that knowledge that I am constantly at risk of damaging one of the most expensive things in my- or someone else’- possession. This completely sucks any enjoyment I might have out of being a vehicle owner, and I have a feeling that if I were to try and fire an interest in cars at all, it would only increase my neurotic tendencies. I currently view mine as a worrying liability so I dread to think how much more panicky I would get about driving if I was in awe of the engineering and aesthetics.
Some people donate their cars to us out of love. It has been a precious companion to them in their travels and they like the idea of it finishing its life serving a useful and worthwhile purpose by converting them into a charitable gift. Personally, I’m all about the scrapping process. When the time comes, I will donate my car for a sense of pure catharsis. I can’t wait for the day when the source of most of my worldly anxiety is taken off my hands and crushed into a cube of metal. I will see it as a beautiful metaphor for my worries being minimised and disposed of. No longer will I have to stress about its bodywork or mechanics! No longer will I have to break into a sweat whenever faced with a busy car park and one single cramped space! All that responsibility gone! And the best thing of all; that scrap metal cube will no longer be a burden, but an opportunity to make some money for whichever charity I chose. A final pay-off to make the worry worthwhile.

I struggled to muster the energy to do even this. It’s not only that I can’t really understand the zeal of car enthusiasts, who love the ins-and-outs of an engine and even find the noise a thrill (why?!), but that’s not the real issue. There are a lot of things that other people get excited about that I just don’t get (football, new technology, The X Factor) and that’s completely fine. To each their own.

Yesterday I was asked if I was interested in cars. Working in an office where our life source is the donations raised from scrapped and auctioned autos, the reaction that clearly is required to that is probably, “Of course!” or at the very least a noise that sounds vaguely enthusiastic.
I struggled to muster the energy to do even this. It’s not only that I can’t really understand the zeal of car enthusiasts, who love the ins-and-outs of an engine and even find the noise a thrill (why?!), but that’s not the real issue. There are a lot of things that other people get excited about that I just don’t get (football, new technology, The X Factor) and that’s completely fine. To each their own.
The main reason that I don’t feel more attached to our four-wheeled friends is that I hate the actual process of driving. Don’t get me wrong, in theory it appeals. Convenience, the joy of windy country roads, breaking out the ballads at top volume knowing no one can hear me, safe as I am in my metal container. But there’s always that knowledge that I am constantly at risk of damaging one of the most expensive things in my- or someone else’- possession. This completely sucks any enjoyment I might have out of being a vehicle owner, and I have a feeling that if I were to try and fire an interest in cars at all, it would only increase my neurotic tendencies. I currently view mine as a worrying liability so I dread to think how much more panicky I would get about driving if I was in awe of the engineering and aesthetics.
Some people donate their cars to us out of love. It has been a precious companion to them in their travels and they like the idea of it finishing its life serving a useful and worthwhile purpose by converting them into a charitable gift. Personally, I’m all about the scrapping process. When the time comes, I will donate my car for a sense of pure catharsis. I can’t wait for the day when the source of most of my worldly anxiety is taken off my hands and crushed into a cube of metal. I will see it as a beautiful metaphor for my worries being minimised and disposed of. No longer will I have to stress about its bodywork or mechanics! No longer will I have to break into a sweat whenever faced with a busy car park and one single cramped space! All that responsibility gone! And the best thing of all; that scrap metal cube will no longer be a burden, but an opportunity to make some money for whichever charity I chose. A final pay-off to make the worry worthwhile.

Yesterday I was asked if I was interested in cars. Working in an office where our life source is the donations raised from scrapped and auctioned autos, the reaction that clearly is required to that is probably, “Of course!” or at the very least a noise that sounds vaguely enthusiastic.

That sadly was long ago. I am not taken on the Christmas outings anymore; they have a new car now. Apparently I have a broken cambelt but it feels more like my axel has been ripped into two. I heard that there is a service for unwanted cars where you are once again used to serve the needs of others. They are called Giveacar and they give poor neglected cars like me a new home, a new use. At Giveacar they accept any car, you don’t need to be new, shiny or even work. They take unwanted cars and make them feel special again. I don’t ask for much for Christmas but there is just one thing that I need, all I want for Christmas is Giveacar, Giveacar!

Give your car a great Christmas, give him to Giveacar. [summary] => [format] => filtered_html [safe_value] =>

Christmas used to be my favourite time of the year, but that was long ago. I remember those cold crisp mornings when I had been up all night in eager anticipation hardly feeling the cold, all the family would get together and go on a great expedition. The fun we would have and the places that we used to go! Everybody was so cheerful, it really warmed my insides. They were very generous with the seat warmers and let me tell you it is not just humans who enjoy the use of seat warmers.
That sadly was long ago. I am not taken on the Christmas outings anymore; they have a new car now. Apparently I have a broken cambelt but it feels more like my axel has been ripped into two. I heard that there is a service for unwanted cars where you are once again used to serve the needs of others. They are called Giveacar and they give poor neglected cars like me a new home, a new use. At Giveacar they accept any car, you don’t need to be new, shiny or even work. They take unwanted cars and make them feel special again. I don’t ask for much for Christmas but there is just one thing that I need, all I want for Christmas is Giveacar, Giveacar!
Give your car a great Christmas, give him to Giveacar.

That sadly was long ago. I am not taken on the Christmas outings anymore; they have a new car now. Apparently I have a broken cambelt but it feels more like my axel has been ripped into two. I heard that there is a service for unwanted cars where you are once again used to serve the needs of others. They are called Giveacar and they give poor neglected cars like me a new home, a new use. At Giveacar they accept any car, you don’t need to be new, shiny or even work. They take unwanted cars and make them feel special again. I don’t ask for much for Christmas but there is just one thing that I need, all I want for Christmas is Giveacar, Giveacar!

Give your car a great Christmas, give him to Giveacar. [summary] => [format] => filtered_html [safe_value] =>

Christmas used to be my favourite time of the year, but that was long ago. I remember those cold crisp mornings when I had been up all night in eager anticipation hardly feeling the cold, all the family would get together and go on a great expedition. The fun we would have and the places that we used to go! Everybody was so cheerful, it really warmed my insides. They were very generous with the seat warmers and let me tell you it is not just humans who enjoy the use of seat warmers.
That sadly was long ago. I am not taken on the Christmas outings anymore; they have a new car now. Apparently I have a broken cambelt but it feels more like my axel has been ripped into two. I heard that there is a service for unwanted cars where you are once again used to serve the needs of others. They are called Giveacar and they give poor neglected cars like me a new home, a new use. At Giveacar they accept any car, you don’t need to be new, shiny or even work. They take unwanted cars and make them feel special again. I don’t ask for much for Christmas but there is just one thing that I need, all I want for Christmas is Giveacar, Giveacar!
Give your car a great Christmas, give him to Giveacar.

Christmas used to be my favourite time of the year, but that was long ago. I remember those cold crisp mornings when I had been up all night in eager anticipation hardly feeling the cold, all the family would get together and go on a great expedition. The fun we would have and the places that we used to go! Everybody was so cheerful, it really warmed my insides. They were very generous with the seat warmers and let me tell you it is not just humans who enjoy the use of seat warmers.

That sadly was long ago. I am not taken on the Christmas outings anymore; they have a new car now. Apparently I have a broken cambelt but it feels more like my axel has been ripped into two. I heard that there is a service for unwanted cars where you are once again used to serve the needs of others. They are called Giveacar and they give poor neglected cars like me a new home, a new use. At Giveacar they accept any car, you don’t need to be new, shiny or even work. They take unwanted cars and make them feel special again. I don’t ask for much for Christmas but there is just one thing that I need, all I want for Christmas is Giveacar, Giveacar!

Give your car a great Christmas, give him to Giveacar. [summary] => [format] => filtered_html [safe_value] =>

Christmas used to be my favourite time of the year, but that was long ago. I remember those cold crisp mornings when I had been up all night in eager anticipation hardly feeling the cold, all the family would get together and go on a great expedition. The fun we would have and the places that we used to go! Everybody was so cheerful, it really warmed my insides. They were very generous with the seat warmers and let me tell you it is not just humans who enjoy the use of seat warmers.
That sadly was long ago. I am not taken on the Christmas outings anymore; they have a new car now. Apparently I have a broken cambelt but it feels more like my axel has been ripped into two. I heard that there is a service for unwanted cars where you are once again used to serve the needs of others. They are called Giveacar and they give poor neglected cars like me a new home, a new use. At Giveacar they accept any car, you don’t need to be new, shiny or even work. They take unwanted cars and make them feel special again. I don’t ask for much for Christmas but there is just one thing that I need, all I want for Christmas is Giveacar, Giveacar!
Give your car a great Christmas, give him to Giveacar.

Every one of us will be struck by disaster at least at one point in our life. It’s sudden and unexpected nature disrupts our lives and causes us much pain. We don’t invite disaster rather it is inflicted upon us and those affected deserve our sympathy and support.

For me, the concept of charity means helping those who are going through a difficult period in their life. This is why I was so impressed by ShelterBox because their vision is that everybody affected by disaster has access to the equipment needed to survive. ShelterBox are currently working in Ethiopia to alleviate the drought that is affecting the country and helping the four million people forced from their homes in Pakistan due to flooding. I am in awe of the work they do because it makes the difference between life and death.

Through Giveacar, donors have raised over £5849 for ShelterBox, by scrapping or selling their old cars. This money has gone to saving the lives of people who are in the most desperate need of help. Disaster is an inevitability of life but with support and caring we can get back on our feet and start to look to the future with hope and optimism.

Every one of us will be struck by disaster at least at one point in our life. It’s sudden and unexpected nature disrupts our lives and causes us much pain. We don’t invite disaster rather it is inflicted upon us and those affected deserve our sympathy and support.

For me, the concept of charity means helping those who are going through a difficult period in their life. This is why I was so impressed by ShelterBox because their vision is that everybody affected by disaster has access to the equipment needed to survive. ShelterBox are currently working in Ethiopia to alleviate the drought that is affecting the country and helping the four million people forced from their homes in Pakistan due to flooding. I am in awe of the work they do because it makes the difference between life and death.

Through Giveacar, donors have raised over £5849 for ShelterBox, by scrapping or selling their old cars. This money has gone to saving the lives of people who are in the most desperate need of help. Disaster is an inevitability of life but with support and caring we can get back on our feet and start to look to the future with hope and optimism.

Every one of us will be struck by disaster at least at one point in our life. It’s sudden and unexpected nature disrupts our lives and causes us much pain. We don’t invite disaster rather it is inflicted upon us and those affected deserve our sympathy and support.

Every one of us will be struck by disaster at least at one point in our life. It’s sudden and unexpected nature disrupts our lives and causes us much pain. We don’t invite disaster rather it is inflicted upon us and those affected deserve our sympathy and support.

For me, the concept of charity means helping those who are going through a difficult period in their life. This is why I was so impressed by ShelterBox because their vision is that everybody affected by disaster has access to the equipment needed to survive. ShelterBox are currently working in Ethiopia to alleviate the drought that is affecting the country and helping the four million people forced from their homes in Pakistan due to flooding. I am in awe of the work they do because it makes the difference between life and death.

Through Giveacar, donors have raised over £5849 for ShelterBox, by scrapping or selling their old cars. This money has gone to saving the lives of people who are in the most desperate need of help. Disaster is an inevitability of life but with support and caring we can get back on our feet and start to look to the future with hope and optimism.

We are so proud to have been nominated for the BBC World Challenge award. This is an international award which features entries from great social enterprises and ideas that positively affect communities. Find out more about it and VOTE FOR GIVEACAR here:

http://www.theworldchallenge.co.uk/finalists/10/Bangers_&_Cash:

Winning this would be great as it would raise the profile of car donation allowing us to raise more money for UK based charities.As the only UK entry, a vote for us is a vote for your country. Thanks for reading: please follow the link and vote.

We are so proud to have been nominated for the BBC World Challenge award. This is an international award which features entries from great social enterprises and ideas that positively affect communities. Find out more about it and VOTE FOR GIVEACAR here:

http://www.theworldchallenge.co.uk/finalists/10/Bangers_&_Cash:

Winning this would be great as it would raise the profile of car donation allowing us to raise more money for UK based charities.As the only UK entry, a vote for us is a vote for your country. Thanks for reading: please follow the link and vote.

We are so proud to have been nominated for the BBC World Challenge award. This is an international award which features entries from great social enterprises and ideas that positively affect communities. Find out more about it and VOTE FOR GIVEACAR here:

http://www.theworldchallenge.co.uk/finalists/10/Bangers_&_Cash:

We are so proud to have been nominated for the BBC World Challenge award. This is an international award which features entries from great social enterprises and ideas that positively affect communities. Find out more about it and VOTE FOR GIVEACAR here:

http://www.theworldchallenge.co.uk/finalists/10/Bangers_&_Cash:

Winning this would be great as it would raise the profile of car donation allowing us to raise more money for UK based charities.As the only UK entry, a vote for us is a vote for your country. Thanks for reading: please follow the link and vote.

We just had an email from Railway Children, a charity we have supported steadily since the early days of Giveacar. Last year we raised £2,749 for them from the generous gift of twenty cars or more. Railway Children is perhaps best known for its highly imaginative space in the old Eurostar terminal at Waterloo, but they have been reaching out to help children who are alone and vulnerable for over ten years.

They have projects here in the UK, but also in East Africa and India. Their outreach workers go out onto the streets to talk to the children, work out why they are there and see if they can help them, if possible by reuniting them with their families. It only costs £1,000 to pay the annual salary of an outreach worker doing this important work, but Railway Children also provide food, clothing, schooling and a safe haven for their children.

What struck me is that £5 is enough to feed 10 street children for a day. So if one of our scrap cars typically raises around £100, we can turn this hunk of useless metal into square meals for over 500 children.

Imagine how few children you could feed for £100 in the UK. Schools allow a budget of over £1.50 a head, so you would be lucky to get 70 free dinners in this country. And that’s just one of the three meals they might expect in the day. So it’s fair to say that our donors’ money will go nearly ten times as far in a poor country like India.

We just had an email from Railway Children, a charity we have supported steadily since the early days of Giveacar. Last year we raised £2,749 for them from the generous gift of twenty cars or more. Railway Children is perhaps best known for its highly imaginative space in the old Eurostar terminal at Waterloo, but they have been reaching out to help children who are alone and vulnerable for over ten years.

They have projects here in the UK, but also in East Africa and India. Their outreach workers go out onto the streets to talk to the children, work out why they are there and see if they can help them, if possible by reuniting them with their families. It only costs £1,000 to pay the annual salary of an outreach worker doing this important work, but Railway Children also provide food, clothing, schooling and a safe haven for their children.

What struck me is that £5 is enough to feed 10 street children for a day. So if one of our scrap cars typically raises around £100, we can turn this hunk of useless metal into square meals for over 500 children.

Imagine how few children you could feed for £100 in the UK. Schools allow a budget of over £1.50 a head, so you would be lucky to get 70 free dinners in this country. And that’s just one of the three meals they might expect in the day. So it’s fair to say that our donors’ money will go nearly ten times as far in a poor country like India.

We just had an email from Railway Children, a charity we have supported steadily since the early days of Giveacar. Last year we raised £2,749 for them from the generous gift of twenty cars or more. Railway Children is perhaps best known for its highly imaginative space in the old Eurostar terminal at Waterloo, but they have been reaching out to help children who are alone and vulnerable for over ten years.

We just had an email from Railway Children, a charity we have supported steadily since the early days of Giveacar. Last year we raised £2,749 for them from the generous gift of twenty cars or more. Railway Children is perhaps best known for its highly imaginative space in the old Eurostar terminal at Waterloo, but they have been reaching out to help children who are alone and vulnerable for over ten years.

They have projects here in the UK, but also in East Africa and India. Their outreach workers go out onto the streets to talk to the children, work out why they are there and see if they can help them, if possible by reuniting them with their families. It only costs £1,000 to pay the annual salary of an outreach worker doing this important work, but Railway Children also provide food, clothing, schooling and a safe haven for their children.

What struck me is that £5 is enough to feed 10 street children for a day. So if one of our scrap cars typically raises around £100, we can turn this hunk of useless metal into square meals for over 500 children.

Imagine how few children you could feed for £100 in the UK. Schools allow a budget of over £1.50 a head, so you would be lucky to get 70 free dinners in this country. And that’s just one of the three meals they might expect in the day. So it’s fair to say that our donors’ money will go nearly ten times as far in a poor country like India.