Baby, you can drive my car…

For almost thirty years I’ve had my own car. This week my beloved Ugly Fiat will go, and I am not getting a replacement.

There’s a quiet but growing angst in my breast. I’m not a creature that fares well in captivity – I do need to believe all horizons are potentially mine. But this was always the plan with our move to town – no need to fund two vehicles when one of them spends 90% of its time resting in the garage – and so I must adapt.

To be fair I shan’t even notice for the majority of day to day life as I’ve barely used mine since moving here. But I’ll have to fill in all manner of Domestic Dockets to get a calendar slot for the new one when I do need it as it won’t be available to me as a matter of course during the working day.

Musing over this loss of independence got me thinking about all the cars I’ve had over the years. From old bangers to sexy sports cars to Those Suitable For Transporting Children. Twenty cars in twenty nine years!  And all different! 

And this led to thinking how many types I’ve actually driven in those twenty nine years, because there are also those I used to regularly borrow from bosses and boyfriends, which probably adds another twenty to the list – at least – and a much more glamorous twenty too: Rolls Royce, Porsche, Ferrari, Mercedes, BMW, stinking big Daimler Jaguar (nicest, smoothest, easiest drive, btw), a vintage e-type Jag (scariest!), a bus and a JCB digger…  okay, so the last two weren’t terribly glamorous but they were a hell of a lot of fun to drive.

So… yes.. I like cars and cannot see me without one forever. Indeed, as I begin my pedestrian quest it is with one eye on the future acquisition of a little beauty I’ve always wanted. 

Gorgeous, isn’t it? And it comes in pale blue too…