I have always had a love of classic American cars.
My favourite is the pink Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz. There’s
something I love about retro-Americana that the pink Cadillac feeds into
nicely, and I could probably even afford to buy one – classic cars over here
are surprisingly inexpensive to buy and insure. Unfortunately they also guzzle
gas like there’s no tomorrow, and I have no idea where I would park it – unless
money was no object, in which case it would go in my hypothetical car garage
along with my Thunderbird and classic Chevy.
I also love Alfa Romeos. At one point in my life my dream
car was a silver Alfa 147; a fairly attainable dream, since I ultimately bought
one. I took great pleasure in watching people walk past, stop and come back to
stare at the front end, with its huge badge and sideways licence plate. Sadly, Alfas
cost a fortune to insure, so I had to downgrade to a Seat Leon, which was
equally pretty but not quite so in-your-face.
My husband is the one who knows cars in our house. He knows
that when I buy a new car I have to love the look. (Reliability is vital, of
course, but a lot of cars are reliable. I want reliable and funky-looking.) My
current car is a Kia Soul Burner, black with silver dragon decals down the
sides, and is rare enough that when I pass another one on the motorway we wave
to each other. It also has almost caused several accidents when people gawp at
it, including one bloke who nearly ran his car into a petrol pump and promptly
got clobbered by his girlfriend in the passenger seat.
And I’m now in the market for a new car, which will probably
be a dark red Nissan Juke. Unless someone pops up in the interim with an idea
for a cooler car?
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