Category: Cars

Yes, dear readers, our car is no more.  After many years of successfully avoiding things, our insurance policy is finally being put to use.  The Zafira is dead.

It was one of those stereotypical nights that would feel right at home in a Hollywood movie – the sky was black, the wind howled menacingly, the icy rain hurled itself at the ground, and small furry creatures everywhere ran and hid.  And I sat at home reading Samuel a bedtime story.  It was only when my mobile rang on page 2 that it became apparent that the weather was indeed a bad omen.

In all fairness, Ellie has only been driving on her own for a month.  And it’s not exactly a small car.  And the conditions were awful, as I’ve described above.  And it was a very narrow road.  Squeezing down a poorly lit residential street she slightly misjudged her position on the road, and clipped the back of a parked car as she passed.  She was only in second gear apparently, and it took her completely by surprise.  She was surprisingly calm on the phone though, which in turn helped me to be surprisingly calm too, as I skipped to the end of the book (andtheyalllivedhappilyeveraftertheend) and hastily put Samuel to bed without brushing his teeth.  To be honest I was more relieved than anything else – given the sort of accidents new drivers usually have, this was nothing.

Thankfully the owner of the other car was very understanding.  In fact, apparently it was the third time this had happened to her.  Which tends to suggest it’s not entirely Ellie’s fault after all… but I doubt the insurance company will see it that way.

Ellie wasn’t hurt at all, incidentally, as she wasn’t going particularly fast at the time.  In fact, on inspection in the light of the following day the damage didn’t seem too bad.  But because Ellie had mentioned about the steering not feeling quite right we decided to play it safe and leave the car where it was until it could be looked at by a garage.  So we arranged for the car to be collected, and today I heard back from them with their assessment of the damage.  There was some cosmetic work that would need doing, such as replacing a few body panels (front bumper, bonnet, front wing), repainting (the aforementioned new panels, plus some deep scratches on the doors), and a new headlight unit.  But the thing that really swung the issue was a bent and snapped steering rack.  Ouch.  Presumably when the two cars collided they bumped wheels, and even at that slow speed it was enough to cause significant damage.  The cost of repair was quoted at more than I paid for the car in the first place, so understandably it has been deemed a complete loss.

It makes me wonder though how cars last so long when they’re banger racing.  If a gentle knock can sheer a steering rack, how can scrap cars survive being repeatedly rammed and still pull themselves along??  I also wonder what banger racing will be like in 20 years time when all the ‘old’ cars are made of plastic.

So on Friday, straight after a work end-of-year conference in Yeovil, I went and picked up a hire car that we’d booked for the weekend, and spent most of Saturday looking at cars.  I had already looked at the AutoTrader website, and had decided that a Ford Focus was what we needed.  Significantly smaller and cheaper than the Zafira, but still with just about enough space inside for us to get by on a day-to-day basis.  A long term goal at the back of my mind is that now that Ellie and I both drive it might be more sensible for us to have two smaller cars rather than one big one.  So I picked out the best options, we piled into the tiny Corsa we’d hired, and set off.

The first car was in Frome, and was being sold privately rather than by a garage.  I thought it looked good from the website, so I was feeling positive.  However, the man selling the car didn’t do himself any favours at all.  He knew practically nothing about the car, because he hadn’t had it long and hadn’t bought it for himself, and had allowed the MOT to run out.  That meant that we couldn’t legally take it for a test drive, despite his offers.  It also had dubious interior additions (who uses CB radios these days???), two balding tyres (both on the same side of the car, so all four would need replacing), the engine sounded rough (even for a diesel), and it just didn’t feel right.  So we left without even moving it off the drive.

The next one on my list was back in Shepton.  It looked miles better, despite a little rust on the rear subframe, so we took it for a spin.  It was okay, but not great.  The brake discs felt warped, and juddered a lot when braking, which made the whole braking experience very unnerving.  It was also didn’t like going into third gear.  It was a nice enough car, it just didn’t feel like ours.  So we said no and went home to grab some lunch.

Armed with a broader range of options, having succumbed to the idea that I might be wrong in declaring that we needed a Focus, we set off in the afternoon to see three more cars: a Zafira and a Focus Estate in Frome, and an Astra in Trowbridge.  We went to Frome first on the basis that they were closing earlier.  The Zafira was like ours, only a slightly higher spec model, so we took that as read and had a look at the Focus Estate, just to see what the difference was.  It looked lovely, a wonderful big boot, great condition, and none of the rust issues that the other Focus had had.  Taking it for a spin we both very soon agreed that it felt like our car.

So we bought a Focus after all, albeit a bigger one than I’d expected.  God led us in exactly the right direction, once I let him, and it’s being delivered on Sunday afternoon.  Yay!  I’ll put photos up in due course, for those of you for whom a blog post of this length is just too much effort.

One of the nice things about bank holidays is that you get a little more time.  Not a lot, necessarily, but some.  And that can make all the difference.  For instance, the bank holiday last Friday (for the Royal Wedding) meant that we got to do a few things that would ordinarily have had to wait until Saturday.  Doing them on Friday gave us more time on Saturday to do other things instead, which just makes everything a bit more special.

In my case, I spent Saturday afternoon washing the car.  I’m ashamed to say that’s the first wash the car has had since I bought it about a year ago.  But don’t tell my grandparents, they still think I take good care of my cars.  As you might guess, there was a considerable build-up of dirt, especially on the boot and the bottoms of the doors.  And a Vauxhall Zafira is considerably bigger than a classic Mini.  Which is why I’d had to psych myself up for the ordeal.

I started by setting up the garden hose (which Samuel found fascinating) and dousing the car in water, just to try and loosen some of the dirt a bit.  Then out came the bucket and sponge.  This is where I came across my first problem – I’m not actually tall enough to do the whole of the roof.  I did the best I could, but there is actually still a strip along the middle of the roof where I couldn’t reach.  I didn’t take that into account when I bought the car.

The back of the car was a bit of a challenge, just because of the amount of dirt that was there.  I would wipe across with my sponge, and even with one stroke I’d be wiping with dirty water.  It took several attempts to get it all off, and even then it was still streaky with slightly grubby watermarks.  Nor could I get all the grime off around the rear wheel arches or the front bumper.  It’s a lot better than it was, that’s for sure, but it wouldn’t compare to the perfect shine I always strived for with Neddy.  Still, one consolation with it being a newer car is that if the body panels aren’t made of metal they can’t rust.

So now we have a nice shiny clean car.  Not quite as-new, but close enough for now.

I’m home alone right now.  I say “alone”, technically Samuel is in the house too, but he’s blissfully drifting through slumberland right now so I’m not sure that counts.  My wife, on the other hand, is out.  With another man.  Thankfully this isn’t an affair I’ve suddenly unearthed, but it’s arguably worse.  She’s having driving lessons.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like the idea of Ellie driving – I’m sure she’ll be a fantastic driver, and I have no concerns about that whatsoever.  I’ve already taken her out a few times to try to teach her the basics, and she picked it up fairly quickly.  In the space of three lessons I had got Ellie to get the car moving, change gear (up to third at one point), stop without stalling, steer around parked cars, negotiate junctions, even do a few hill starts.  That, though, was a couple of years ago, and a lot has happened since then to get in the way of her doing any more driving.  Now it’s become more important, so we’ve got her some proper driving lessons with a proper instructor in a proper learner’s car.  And to be perfectly honest, I’m terrified.

I completely understand why Ellie wants to drive, and I don’t blame her for it at all.  It’s going to be incredibly useful for all of us if she can drive.  She can drive me to work and have the car during the day to go into town, do the shopping, take Samuel to various places, and pick me up in the evening.  We can share the driving on long journeys.  She can go out for a jaunt if she’s in the mood for it, without needing me to come too.  She’ll have the freedom to go where she wants, when she wants, without inconveniencing me or anyone else.  It’ll save us money on bus fares.  Ellie will be able to ferry me around if I break my leg or something.  Eventually we could even get a second car and we could both drive around at the same time.  It’ll be fantastic.

But, all that said, I’m still somewhat nervous about the whole thing.   (more…)

My car has been making an odd noise for the last couple of weeks.  We first noticed it on the way back from my cousin’s wedding (congratulations Mel and Lal!), when we stopped at some traffic lights in Castle Cary and heard a faint ticking noise coming from the engine.  My wife described it as being like a leaf caught in a bicycle wheel.  My keenly trained ears quickly assessed it to be in sync with the rotational speed of the engine, and experience told me it was probably something running dry.  Obviously the engine could do with a top up of oil, and I mentally scolded myself for not checking the level before we left.

And then, well, things got in the way.  It was raining.  We were ill.  I was busy.  There just wasn’t an ideal time to pop out and top up the oil, so I just carried on driving to work and back with that ticking noise in the background, a constant reminder that actually the engine wasn’t all that happy, and that I really should do something about it.  Finally, this morning, just as we were about to head off to Tesco for the weekly shop, I remembered and checked the oil level.  It was indeed low.  It wasn’t even registering on the dipstick.  My bad.  So I hunted around in the garage and found the oil, but realised too late that it wasn’t nearly enough.  So I put what we had into the car and drove to Tesco, where I parked up and walked round the corner to the garage to buy some more.

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This isn't actually the car in question, but it's almost identical.

Astute readers will recall that on Saturday I went to see a Zafira, which I had decided was the next type of car we needed.  It’s a logical progression really.  The first car I owned was a Ford Fiesta.  I wanted a Mini, but I was fresh out of uni and couldn’t afford one, so I settled for a Fiesta instead.  Then, when business had picked up, I bought a Mini, and thoroughly enjoyed my little pocket rocket.  Then I got married, and was suddenly doing a lot of miles, and the Mini started seeming smaller and smaller the more we packed into the boot.  And then we decided to have a baby, and a Mini just wasn’t practical any more, so we moved into small family saloon territory with a conservative Ford Escort.  Now, as an established family and all the baggage that brings with it, we are in need of a ‘proper’ family car, a seven-seater.  Hence the Zafira.

After Saturday’s disappointment, we were keen to get out there and see something else.  If nothing else, it would be good to be able to make a direct comparison.  And hope that the car we had dismissed at the weekend didn’t turn out to be a bargain.  So this afternoon I skipped work and we all drove out to Westbury to see another Zafira.  Same listed price as the other one, same 1.6 engine, roughly the same spec, also from a dealership rather than private, but slightly lower mileage.  And, as it happens, we rather liked what we saw.

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A Citroen 2CV. Another example of a car I didn't buy today.

As many of you will probably know, I’m a bit of a Mini fanatic.  My darling Lulu, the little red Mini City I learnt to drive in, was an inspiration.  Neddy, the little blue Mini Sidewalk, was a joy.  Sad was the day when I said good bye to the days of carefree invigorating driving and welcomed in a life of staid normality in the form of a Ford Escort.  Yes, it was more practical, but it lacked all the ‘fun’ qualities I had grown used to.  Now, only a year or two later, the time has come for the next step in the process – I’m buying a people carrier.

Before I cower behind my desk chair against the onslaught of abuse, allow me to explain the logic behind this overly ‘grown-up’ proposition.  We have a baby.  I have lots of instruments.  We go places with both.  Our trusty Ford Escort, which has a truly monumental boot capacity compared to the Mini, is now on the verge of being too small to cope with our many belongings.  It’s also beginning to show its age, with rusty patches on some of the exterior panels.  The logic says that if we buy a slightly more expensive car (though still second hand) it should last us slightly longer, and buying a 7-seater will give us more space to carry people and stuff around.

Our vehicle of choice?  The most popular small 7-seater around.  The MPV that launched touting the most revolutionary seating system the world had ever seen.  The people carrier that has become ubiquitous for small families.  The Vauxhall Zafira.

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I was out driving the other day, and someone overtook me in a lovely Porsche 911 Carrera S.  I looked across as it glided past, and at the driver at the wheel, and thought “what have you done to deserve that car?”  Not in a judgemental way, mind you, but it got me thinking.

In many car racing computer games your entitlement to drive particular classes of car has to be earned through proving your driving skill, rather than just the accumulation of money.  It strikes me that actually this is a fair and sensible approach, and one that highlights just how inadequate and antiquated our current system is.  At the moment we only have one driving test, which is a simple yes/no answer to the question “did this person meet the minimum requirements on the day of the test”.  The same driving test entitles someone to drive a rusty old Vauxhall Corsa, or a Bugatti Veyron.  There’s something wrong there, methinks.

And so, as I drove along in my Ford Escort, I worked out the finer details of my idea to revolutionise driving tests, licences and car manufacture.  To my surprise and delight, it looks like it might actually be a good idea!

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I like to think of myself as a Driver.  Not just someone who happens to drive, mind you, an actual Driver.  With a capital D.  I see a car not as an object or a tool to be controlled, but as an extension of my own body.  The wheels are my limbs, gripping to the road and telling me all about the road surface.  The engine is a muscle, delivering power when and how I determine, and which needs rest and exercise to operate properly.  And the driver’s seat, the steering wheel, the pedals, the gear stick, are all part of my central nervous system, delivering the impulses from my brain to the respective parts of the extended body.  Driving, for me, is not about getting from A to B – it’s about living life in an augmented reality.

And the A303 is a fantastic road to experience that reality.  I’ve been driving on it a lot recently, and each journey has built upon the last my love and appreciation for what, for many, is just a road.  You see, the A303 isn’t like a motorway.  It’s slower, certainly, but it’s more scenic, more interesting to drive, and requires more skill to navigate effectively.  Now, I’m not saying that you have to be a qualified driver to make it all the way down the road, it’s not exactly precarious, but being a Driver means I can appreciate and embrace all the twists and turns, the adverse cambers, the ever-changing gradients, the varying speed limits, the wavering lane widths, the unpredictable surface quality.  For someone trying to get from A to B, the A303 is an inefficient pain in the neck that urgently needs resurfacing and making dual-carriageway the entire length of it.  And that’s why I love it so.

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I’ve been doing a lot of driving recently.  This past week I drove from Somerset to Essex for a meeting in Chelmsford, and then back again.  The previous week I did almost the same journey for a meeting in Maldon.  Both times I went up the night before and stayed overnight in Colchester with some friends (thank you again, Phill and Phil, the accommodation and ironing service was much appreciated).  In case you’ve never done that journey before, at best it’s a 4 hour drive in each direction.  If there’s traffic on the M25 or A12 it can be a lot longer.

Now, I see myself as a very level-headed person.  I don’t get stressed, I don’t get angry, I don’t judge people.  Until I get into a car, apparently.  While on the roads recently I’ve noticed just how much I judge the other road users, mentally criticising their driving abilities and in some cases even their choice of car.  It came as a bit of a surprise, actually, that I would so easily fall into this habit of judgement.  So I thought I’d share with you what form this judgement takes.

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About a year ago I bought a new car.  Well, not new exactly.  Considerably second hand, to be exact.  Still, it looked to be in very good condition, despite the mileage, and I couldn’t fault it for the price.  £850 for a small family saloon.  Bargain.

Following that purchase the Escort became our daily runner, and the Mini was sold prior to us moving house – the sale of the Mini paid for the removals van and some of the white goods we bought when we moved in.  And the Escort has continued to drive beautifully without problems, and we have certainly appreciated the air conditioning a few times too.

However, it did come as a considerable worry when I checked the car over the day before we went to camp (which I still have yet to write about – sorry!).  The oil level was fine, if a bit dirty, and everything else in the engine bay looked fine, but I was aware that the exhaust had been rattling.  Closer inspection showed that it was just loose, and securing it properly would fix that no problem.  What I hadn’t expected to see was a large amount of rust on the rear subframe.  Not good.

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