Parents of very small children may want to look away now because what I’m about to write will make them feel sick.
ow that our daughters are 15 and 12, last week we traded in our old seven-seater kiddywagon for a sporty three-door car.
Oh we’d had some great times in that cavernous behemoth, bought in 2005 when we had two small children and a big lurcher that just about squeezed in on our frequent camping trips to the Lake District.
Clowns getting out of a taxi? That was us 10 times a summer, my friend.
But after 101,000 miles, a boot that unlocked when it felt like it, a driver’s wing mirror held on by brown parcel tape, a deep 6ft scar down the side from when some idiot (me) got it wedged on the corner of a trolley shelter in a supermarket car park and just kept going and a CD player that wouldn’t fast forward, we thought it was time for a change.
Back in 2005 our car was more often than not full of snot-nosed kids. Like most young families’ cars it had that faint aroma of stale vomit and Greggs sausage rolls, which is the odour of choice of small children in transit.
Maybe Halfords could make a new air freshener scent to sit alongside ‘New Car Smell’ and ‘Forest Pine’… ‘Toddler Puke And Meat-Based Pastry’. It could catch on.
We got a bit emotional when it was time to say goodbye. That car held a lot of happy memories for our little family. And when the boss cleared it out before the handover there was a treasure trove of our children’s musical taste down the years in the glovebox.
Actually, treasure’s probably overegging it. Disney Princesses, Hannah Montana and Cheeky Girls’ CDs are nobody’s idea of a good time. But nine years of history was quickly forgotten when the boss was handed the keys to her sparkly new motor.
Compared to navigating our old ocean liner around Lancaster’s gridlocked roads, this baby is like pushing a pram. And with no booster seats, buggies and toddlers to cart around like the world’s weariest roadies that we were, two big doors and a boot is plenty thank you very much.