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"Att använda en bil för ett  annat ändamål än transport från A till B."

Logotype: Preben Madsen, övrigt: hangus.

Confessions of a Car Abuser


I have been looking for God, love and the perfect car all my life but just found one of these three phenomena. And then I have been almost everywhere. On my journey along life's highway, I've saved episodes for a confession based on both newly manufactured and better used parts from a life as a car abuser. Why confess? I think mankind need true confessions as a plead to God about our existence and if he exist he will forgive us or perhaps strike us if we are telling lies? And who am I? And what is car abuse? I am an ordinary man with the unusual nickname Hangus, my real name is Pär Angus Person and I was born in the village that God forgot in Sweden a hazy day in September 1961. The same year the Dag Hammarskjöld's plane was shot down over the Congo. Maybe the nickname Hangus comes from the fact that Angus is also a beef breed bull? I have used Hangus so long that it´s become my real name, and now I don´t even think of it. Maybe I was baptised of the village that God forgot when I was a little kid chasing farm's bulls with my homemade crossbow? I really do not know how it happened but equipped with the nickname I was named in coincidence like so many others, it was the village that God forgot, and we were nicknamed whether we wanted it or not. My real name I have from Grandpa Angus who stayed in America where he became fond of the anglicisms that spread with the same speed as Marconi's radio waves. The village that God forgot is a small village with little more than eight hundred inhabitants in the northern part of the county Blekinge, in Sweden, and it´s near the border to next county - Småland. We who grew up in the village knew very well that God had forgot us, the inhabitants could do almost anything without being caught by the police !? I speak from personal experience because I've done a lot of bad things that you should not do, and some of it I must confess. Not all! What I want to confess is of course about my car abuse and how it affected my life. I have abused cars throughout my whole adult life, and now the time has come to deal with it, I have gone up so completely in my cars that I become a part of them. Nevertheless, I have met some people who question whether car abuse really exist? And if it actually exists, what kind of abuse is it? Obviously, in this story car abuse do exist and this defines it: "To use a car for a purpose other than to transport yourselve from point A to point B"

   The confession of my car abuse begins eighteen years after my birthday and I'm busy to get myself a life. The year is 1979, and I have gone out engineering technical education and I now how to both weld and bend sheet metal, but so far I have not a clue that a girl can also become really horny. In the small village where I grow up, the lack of girls is one of the really great tragedies.

   My family consists of my father Dan Gustaf and my mother Linnea, and my three brothers; Calle, Mike and John. My parents were born in the 1920s and 1930s, and they are small farmers with a farm on their own and they have us - four sons. The estate was purchased with money Dan Gustaf saved up by staying at his parents', i have to mention the farm that my grandfather Gustaf held until his death in 1975. My father had lived at home until he was quite old, thirty years... By living on the family farm, he managed to save enough money by running the milk transports and take various jobs in forest work which has been a major business ever since the steam saw machine did their entrance in the village that God forgot. The year is 1953, when my father and my mother comes to the village. He is strong Dan Gustaf, how strong he is, we sons don´t understand until we can help him with the hard labour in his firm who  plann and make gardens. The fifty thousand crowns which he pays for the farm is a lot of money in 1953 but Dan Gustaf pay half of the entire purchase price - in cash. And with the help of this money I grow up as the third son in the small courtyard which is beautifully situated at the end of the road in a scenic farming landscape surrounding the village that God forgot.

   In the 1980s, when this takes place, the "politics' economies and urban policy have not yet emptied the countryside of young people in Sweden. In the village that God forgot still live a completely scores with friends for me and my three brothers. It is four years between us older brothers, the younger brother John separates, it is nearly eight years between him and me. I live at home when I turn eighteen, working first at the sawmill and then at the factory. My oldest brother Calle has moved to Malmö and started working as a refrigeration engineer, but he gets tired of it and goes to University in Lund to become a lawyer. At the time when this confession takes place Calle is working in Kristianstad district court and, lives together with Anneli whom he had met in Malmö. Big brother closest to me in age, Mike, works as a Boilermaker at Uddcomb in Karlskrona, or "Staun" as we say, younger brother John goes to school in Kallinge.

   My grandfather Angus name was Olov but he changed his name after emigrating to the US in the 1920s. He went away as Olov and came home as Angus. He had been a welder in the United States and also made a career as a professional poker player and liquor smuggler. That´s why my Grandfather had earned a lot of money. All this perhaps doesn´t say so much about how I grow up as a child in the village that God forgot, but it was an incredible upbringing and my family, a bunch of incredible people is and will remain a part of my story. This story is, however, about my life and I must confess that in the confession of my car abuse the women on my ancestors farms will not com to their right. My grandmother Agnes and my grandmother Ruth are both colorful personalities and they rule with both humans and animals. But they

don´t have the money and as my father Dan Gustaf says; money is control! And of course they will control also my life. To a certain degree.

   This does not mean that he was right but it may be the beginnining of my car abuse that was to become a loyal companion in my life. To have control was important, i had figured out. And a car you could control in many ways. Still, there are so many aspects of car abuse that I will only com up with some of the most obvius ones. See them as symptoms and warning signs where the abuse is about to take over, and breaking out in earnest fullfillment; costly renovations, unplanned pleasure driving, speeding, indiscriminate purchases of spare parts, indiscriminate purchase of scrap vehicles, gasoline end, gearboxcraches, indiscriminate overtaking, perceptions of aesthetics in contemplation of a car and it´s bodyline, outreach of obscure places where there are old car parts, senseless fights, strong desire for revenge, inability to repair their own car, the inability to understand that the car abuser should not repair other people's cars, spectators to unrealistic car movies in the cinema, imaginative attempt to mimic the horrific car chase engines the car abuser seen in the cinema, consistent, fast runs, a car abuser find it boring to put in use the regular car for a turn with a "real car", is always speed blind, corners storms against the car abuser but he is always just slipping through, recurrent paintjobs on cars, treating people as if they were cars, treat yourself as if you were a car, always a greater desire for more and more horsepower, etc!