Tag: Vauxhall Zafira

Now that it’s 2012, and I have a little spare time before I go back to work, I thought this would be a suitable opportunity to reflect on the past year and summarise what I’ve been up to.

Family

Ellie’s operation

Ellie gave us a bit of a scare earlier this year.  What started off as just a niggling pain in the chest turned out to be gall stones, which was at times crippling and meant she had to avoid anything even remotely fatty for several months.  She found that change of diet difficult, what with not being able to eat cheese or chocolate.  Still, the operation went very smoothly and she was back on her feet and eating naughty things soon afterwards.  My biggest confession here is that I’m still ever so slightly jealous at how quickly she healed after her operation, compared to me and my hernia (which is mostly fine now, incidentally).

Peter leaving home

This year my littlest brother flew the nest, finding a lovely little church in Uffeculme to go and be a trainee youth worker at.  I went to his induction service, which was a great way to support him as he began his new ministry, and an opportunity to meet (albeit in passing) others like him and also the vicar he’s working with, who seems very nice.  Unfortunately, despite booking a date in with him, we didn’t get to actually visit Peter on-site this year (more on that later), so hopefully we’ll reschedule that for early 2012.  It does leave Mum and Dad’s house somewhat empty though; apparently their food bill has roughly halved now that Peter’s moved out…

Read Peter’s blog.

France holiday

Apart from a weekend in Weymouth, we as a family have never had a holiday until this year.  Ellie and I have been married for 4 years, and that was all we had managed.  This year we took advantage of Ellie’s Dad’s holiday home in France, and had a lovely week with them.  We had a fantastic day on the beach, generally enjoyed chilling and not doing too much, and although it was short it was much appreciated.  The travel was an adventure – driving on the wrong side of the road isn’t actually too hard at all, although the weather on our return journey made the ferry crossing quite uncomfortable (not that Samuel seemed at all bothered by that).

Samuel’s visit to hospital

Not to be left out, Samuel also necessitated a trip to the hospital, following a very high temperature that caused him to have a brief seizure.  That was a huge worry for us at the time, but thankfully it wasn’t anything to worry about in the end.  Apparently these things happen with young children, because their bodies aren’t able to deal with the heat as well.  No lasting damage, I’m pleased to say.

Grandma’s funeral

Ellie’s Grandma sadly passed away this year.  It wasn’t entirely unexpected, as she was very old and increasingly unwell, but it was still something unpleasant we all had to go through.  She had been growing increasingly senile, making conversation difficult, and although we’d managed to persuade her to move out of her bungalow and into a flat where she’d have people to help, she actually only lived there for a matter of weeks due to prolonged visits to various hospitals.  It was one thing after another, what with falls, blood pressure, infections, and so on.  In the end she had a fall while in hospital that led to a bleed on the brain which, in addition to everything else she was going through, was just too much.  Thankfully we happened to be visiting Ellie’s Mum at the time, so we were on hand to support her through it.  A useful bit of planning on God’s part, methinks.

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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.

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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