An Alien in a Four-wheeled World

Of all the ways to make me snap my fingers and shout, ‘I know who you mean,’ telling me what car anyone drives is probably the least effective. I can recognise a Fiesta circa 1988, a BMW because it has that handy little round badge thing, and a Panda because I drive one. I simply cannot give a hoot about cars. When the husband starts pontificating about this one or that one, I mainly think ‘Get the smallest one possible,’ given that the man has many talents but would still find it a challenge to squeeze a Smart car into a space meant for a bus. Frankly, let’s just get a tiny one so I don’t have to shrink into the footwell every time he’s trying to park in Morrisons.

'The boot's at the other end, love' Image courtesy of David Castillo Dominici/

‘The boot’s at the other end, love’
Image courtesy of David Castillo Dominici/

I don’t need a car to open itself when I stand within five yards of it, blow hot air on the daughter and cold air on the son (where would that leave my ‘JUST GET ON WITH IT’ parenting philosophy?) or anything that tells me I’m getting no miles per hour to my litre of petrol because I’m sitting stationary on the M25. I don’t need speakers that talk at me from different angles, making me think someone has climbed in the boot when I wasn’t watching. I don’t need a boot that could fit a pony in as per the car advert on Magic FM. On the other hand, a car that screams when the husband overtakes to save me the trouble or shouts, ‘Have you seen that motorbike?’ at every T-junction would be a welcome addition.

The son, who adores Jeremy Clarkson (believe me, if you had my parents’ evenings, you would understand why that doesn’t trouble me) is completely frustrated by my lack of interest. He brings up websites, pointing out this, that and the other four-wheeled thing in red, blue and black. I’d rather discuss pensions. Help out with the building of the Globe Theatre with matchsticks, elastic bands and homemade glue project. Descale the steam mop. Sit through a recorder concert. Be a passenger when the husband’s trying to park in the high street, causing a tailback to the traffic lights.

Well, perhaps not that.

*slinks down in seat and puts dog blanket over head*


  1. Brilliant. Ha ha! Had me chuckling, nodding, and saying, ‘Ah, so it’s not just me then.’

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