Car parade

Yes, I know you’re all wanting to know about the weekend’s test-driving. And there are a few surprises to reveal.

Firstly, let me tell you that I’ve come to the conclusion everyone has an “expert” opinion on which car you should buy, all with valid reasons as to why their car choice is the best, but very seldom do people’s choice of best car coincide. Thus, I’ve realised, it’s a choice best made by me, for me.

With that in mind, do not criticise me for my spur-of-the-moment two-lane crossing manouevre along Beyers Naude (as did the irate drivers around me, with good reason) to pull into a Mercedes Benz showroom. (Inyoka, alas don’t get too excited, it wasn’t really the Smart I was there for). What impulsively drew my attention was the *deep breath* new A Class. I know, I know, it’s distinctively a mum’s car, but they do have the sport kit for a not-yet-a-mum-heck-not-even-married feel. What put me off was the sheer arrogance of the dealership: it’s stupid that they won’t let you drive a car right then and there, knowing you’re going to walk straight out of their shop and into a competitor’s showroom, where you might immediately drive another car and fall in love with it, and prefer their friendlier customer service, and decide “Hell, who needs a Merc anyway?” I’m still waiting for the finance guy to call me.

So, despite the sheer joy I would get from driving a car no-one on this planet would expect me to drive this car falls to the bottom of my list. (Is that a sigh of relief I hear?) Surprisingly, the Gilb is actually quite in favour of this car, citing reliability, good vehicle (if not customer) service and a nice price for what it offers as reasons to buy this ‘mobile.

Next up, we went to a Mini dealership, where I got to test drive a Chili Cooper (ladies: it was cream with a black roof; gentlemen: 17-inch rims), where I had a great time terrifying the 18-year-old child that had to ‘supervise’ me on my drive, by chatting (which for me, a certified wop, means with both hands off the steering wheel, gesticulating wildly), all the while looking sideways at the Gilb, and driving at 100 km/h down a windy suburban street. I also forced him to allow me to reverse-park (reverse is actually my favourite gear, I’ve always wanted a car that had a second reverse gear) back at the showroom. The verdict: quite a nippy little thing, but while I was set on the cream version, I’ve decided I like the Astro Black better (black but with little sparkly blue bits, giving it a midnight blue appearance), though not certain whether this should be black bottom and top, or black bottom with white top and side mirrors, and in the latter case, (dare I even think it) perhaps the white stripes down the front. I nearly fainted at the difference in the price between the Cooper and the Cooper S, so regrettably, will not be looking at that option, but the vehicle would have 17-inch rims and a sun-roof, that’s got to count for something, right? The first dealer I went to told me my instalments would be R2,132 per month – I was over the moon, expecting somewhat more – but on closer inspection the sneaky saleswoman had put in a residual value of R97,000. So I spurned her, and went to a better dealership where they gave me the full gory instalment. Fright!

Then. At the Gilb’s insistence, I tried out another car. I won’t tell you yet what this was, suffice to say it’s a slightly more upmarket (I think) competitor to the Ford Focus. It purrs like a deranged tiger, and would outrace the Mini and Merc any day. It has 6-speed transmission (the weirdo salesman asked if I’d like to try the automatic or the manual. Duh), quite a formidable exterior, although admittedly the interior is not quite as stylish as (yet infinitely more spacious than) the Mini. The excitement of buying this car is that, once again, no-one would expect me to be thinking of buying this car, but for quite the opposite reasons suggested by the Merc. Also, I’d definitely get this one in black, and would even break my no-customised-plates rule because its number plates would simply have to be: SWRT GVR. That ironic (yet simultaneously thoroughly appropriate) gimmick is almost too much to resist, and could sway the decision in this car’s favour.

Of course, no mention of my beloved Alfa. Folks, I can’t resist – much to everyone’s mystified horror, I cannot buy a car without giving my first love a test-drive first. This is the Scarlett Johansson of motor vehicles, and who wouldn’t want to ride her? (Scarlett, if you or your agent or publicity monitors are reading this, I’m sorry to objectify you like that. I worship you for so much more than your lesbian fantasy appeal. Mmmmm…)

So. No more mention of cars until the decision is made. It has to happen in the next few weeks, or not at all this year.