Mazda rejig the conventional week

You know what, Mazda? I'd love to. That's what I always wanted. That's what I dreamt of when I traced my finger down your curves in the magazine and swore you'd be mine.

But Mazda, they wouldn't give you to me free. They wanted money. Thousands of pounds, Mazda. What could I do? I only had one choice. I sought a high-powered career in auditing.

So there you are, Mazda, sitting in my drive, but I'm not with you, am I? I'm slumped in the office knocking back Pro Plus and finalising the details of the latest account. And Sunday? Don't make me fucking laugh, Mazda. Sunday I'm preparing that report for management.

Of course I could have roared off into the sunset with you, Mazda, if I'd had a day off in the last six years. But I'd probably just have caught up on sleep. That's all I really look forward to now. I know you understand.