My ladies car

My car is flashing her orange warning light at me again. I care not for the orange warning light. It is like a little harbinger of doom on your dashboard, a little flashing light that smirks evilly at me "I'm going to cost you money" and does the mwah ha ha ha evil laugh.

2 weeks ago I had to replace the brake pads and that cost me at least a pair of LK Bennett peep toe platforms or a White Company Westbourne duvet cover, 4 Oxford pillowcases and a fitted sheet.

Yesterday the evil orange engine malfunction light reappeared. Summoning all my huge and extensive mechanical knowledge it feels like another coil has gone. My flighty car may have already worn her coil out. Is she drving someone else on the side?

I fear my car is me in mechanical form and she is now tired. When she was bought 9 years ago she was never expected to go anywhere further than the shops. She was a ladies car, a Mummy car, she took the children to ballet, rugby, Brownies, music lessons, swimming lessons etc and me to the supermarket. She did little short trips 30 minutes at most. She was indeed A class.

She never had to do early starts, dear me no, she was allowed to wake up gently, we never went anywhere before 9.30am, the children were walked to school, I would return and have coffee and then we would be off, to nice lady places like the gym or the coffee shop.

However life has changed for both of us. I am no longer an executive wife who worked 2 or 3 mornings a week because I liked it. I am someone who has to work to pay for life. I need a car to do it.

Sometimes I have to leave at 6.30 am and drive 90 miles to be training at 9am. This has been a huge shock to both the car and me. For the first 5 years I had my car I only did 5,000 miles a year, I now average 1200 miles per month. My lovely car feels it's just too much for her, she's getting on for 60,000 miles on her clock and it's beginning to show. She wants to protect her lady status, she is absolutely fine on short trips but my long work trips are when she protests.

I didn't want to take the company car and the fuel card I am entitled to as part of my package. I love my car. But I can't afford the garage bills and the soaring fuel costs. I think I will have to reluctantly accept my fate of the company car, I can have an Astra or an Astra and there is no metallic purple option either.

My lovely ladies car will be passed on to Eldest Beautiful Daughter for when she passes her test. Don't hold your breath, she phones me and in tones of great excitement lists what she can do after each lesson, after lesson 6 she actually managed to get into 3rd gear and she can now turn right if there is no oncoming traffic, if there are cars coming, she pretends she hasn't heard the instructor and just carries on to the next right turn that's clear.

So reluctantly I will apply for my company car but I will miss my lovely lady car.

However if Mercedes read this and feel that they need the kudos that having their A classes driven by a middle aged mummy blogger with a penchant for The White Company, they should feel free to replace my lovely A class and I would be happy with any colour, it doesn't have to be metallic purple.

And The White Company? c'mon what's keeping you? would you not like some beautifully written bed porn reviews?

The Beautiful Car

I have fessed up several times that I am a tad technophobic, ok I have the technological capabilities of a baby giraffe. I have never fessed up that I have the car knowledge of a baby giraffe also. My nearest and dearest aren't too impressed with my driving either but I have a full no claims discount so I can't be that bad. However I will admit that the only technical thing I can do with regards to my car is put petrol in and change the cd.I am quite girly when it comes to cars, I don't really know much about any kind of cars except that I hate BMW's and I think that their drivers are the worst on the road, I do love my car though, it is a little black A class Mercedes, and I think it is the very best car in the world, it doesn't have a name though, I'm not that girly. It never lets me down, it's high up off the road which makes it easier for me to see as I am only 5 foot 3 and it's easy to park. In short it's perfect.

Today, as is my want , I swanned off to Starbucks for lunch. I was extremely happy, quite a good compilation cd that Eldest Beautiful Daughter made me, not my best one but I very foolishly lent it out and in return got the Maximo Park cd, that was a crap swap. Anyway I digress, the sun was shining, I was driving along quite happily, 2nd best cd on till I get to Starbucks. My local is attached to a Borders Bookstore, I was a wee bit early so I browsed around and bought The Beautiful Man the new Ian Rankin thriller as tomorrow he goes away on holiday, see what a nice, kind considerate sort I am, I am so considerate I very carefully chose 1 from the back that hadn't been handled too much, as TBM can't read books anyone else has read before him, even me, he doesn't like pages to have been touched by anyone else and he can't do hardbacks. Even though I have that very book at home that he could borrow, I still bought him his very own untouched copy and then went straight out to the car to put it in the boot, as unsullied as possible.

As I walked towards the car I noticed a puddle underneath it, quite a large puddle. Oh God no, my car's incontinent, I got down on the ground and looked underneath, I have no idea what I 'm looking for or any clue what to do but feel I should look underneath. A bloke comes over and peers underneath and informs me that my radiator is leaking. This sounds expensive to me, probably on the Gucci bag type scale of expense. Not quite as bad as my credit card bill at £2000 - yes that is for 1 feckin month but certainly on a par with TBM phone bill ( which was HORRENDOUS, but he will kill me if I fess that up). I feel slightly panicky, just at that TBM arrives, I show him the puddle and being the company car driver he is and the very successful management consultant ( for that read delegator) and he tells me to phone the garage. I'm extremely pleased to know that I have the number in my phone, so I ring the nice man at the garage and he advises me to open the bonnet, check the water and top it up if necessary. TBM asks what the garage suggests and not wanting to appear too shallow/girly/incompetent as I realise I don't know how to open the bonnet never mind check the fluid level so I tell him I've got to bring the car in. It did cross my mind if the cheapest option would be to catheterise it myself.

After a very long lunch, I drive like a granny to the garage as I'm terrified that the car will overheat and grind to a halt and everyone will get cross with me for holding them up. When I get there the nice man asks me if I topped up the water and I fess up that I don't know how to open the feckin bonnet and he very sweetly explains, in soothing tones you would use on a 6 year old how to open the bonnet and check the water etc. He was just like my dad to me. He did look at me as if I shouldn't be allowed to drive if I can't do something as straight forward as open the bonnet though. He's keeping the beautiful car in for observation tonight and I can visit tomorrow and I sincerely hope that it will be an uneventful recovery from the emergency surgery. ( and not too expensive as well )

PS I want to take this opportunity to add that TBM really is 1 in a million to put up with not only all my nonsense but to also have me fessing up his quirks for my mates to scrutinise. You truly are the business.