I set out with every intention of getting something like a Clio, Fiesta or Yaris with an engine around the 1-litre size but ended up with a 1.8-litre Focus.  I suppose it is a step in the right direction and fortunately we do so few miles that the fuel shouldn’t matter too much.  I reckon that some weeks we could do as little as 25 miles and I would be very surprised if we do as many as 5000 miles this year.

We are quite happy with the new car, although the radio gave us a few problems.Because the car had been sitting outside a dealer’s office for a while in the snow and rain it had got a bit damp and the spark plugs and connecting cables had to be changed and at some point the battery had been disconnected or run down.   The end result was that the first time we tried to turn the radio on we got a message about putting the code in because the radio is ‘security code protected’.

Great. The paperwork had no record of the code.  The dealer checked out the serial number of the radio and called a mate of his who can derive the security code from the serial number.  When we got round to trying that  it didn’t actually work and I ended up getting it from the internet. Which is the point where I started to wonder what the point of the security code is.

From what I can see, anybody can find out the code.  You can go to a Ford dealer and they will fix it for a price.  If you pull the radio out you can get the serial number and then there are websites that will convert that to a code for you with a small Paypal or credit card payment.  With a bit more digging you can find sites that will give you a code for free.

All of which makes me wonder what the point is.  There is obviously no protection because having a security code doesn’t give any deterrence to a thief.  They must know that it is very easy to get the code, even if just by putting the question on Yahoo Answers.   I can’t imagine that anybody who makes their living, or part of it, from stealing car stereos or dealing in them doesn’t know how to get a code if I can find out with just a little Googling.

All it means is that anybody who, for whatever reason, doesn’t have a record of their code and ever gets a flat battery or something like that and doesn’t think to go online, will end up paying £25 or whatever to their local Ford dealer. People like my Mum probably.  Its like a tax on innocence.

I’m singling out Ford because that is what I have, but I imagine other brands are the same.  By the way, and I can’t stress this enough: I don’t know how to find out codes myself.  If you have a problem with your car stereo being locked out, and have ended up here as a result of some Google search, don’t leave a comment asking me what your code is because I will not know it.  Just Google some more or try looking here.

After all that, we haven’t actually been out in the car since I put the right code in this morning.  In fact we have done less than 50 miles since getting it on Wednesday.  I did notice that after we had it 24 hours we had done about 22 miles.  By my calculations that means it does less than 1 mile per hour…

Chrystal was at work so I was roped in to take her car across town to Halfords on one of the busiest days of the year – there is a Next sale and an endless stream of people lugging huge TVs out of Comet and Currys, a queue on the A23 to even get into the road County Oak is on and then queues within the car park for a space.  Fortunately the Daewoo Matiz is a tiny car so I had more chance of parking and ended up in nearly the same postcode as Halfords.

The young chap there was very helpful, and it all went in nicely, even though you have to take the whole dashboard off to change a stereo in a Matiz and it turned out there was a blown fuse and a bit of a hunt for the fusebox.

The worst thing was not all the sitting in traffic, not was it standing around in the freezing cold while the work was done.  The worst thing was having to drive across to the other side of town, and back, in a car whose every (pink) accessory proclaims it to be ‘powered by fairydust’ – a proud boast also on the rear window sticker.

1. I don’t car whether it is a real word or not

To be fair, it was not the fault of the AA man.  I had a look under the bonnet myself.  There is a tiny little engine in a tiny little engine compartment and hardly any space in there.  Everything is just compact. The battery looks like a miniature version of a normal car battery – actually it looks like the one on Charlie’s motorbike.

The AA man said that he thought he knew what was wrong but he just could not get at it (thought it turns out he was wrong – it was something else he wouldn’t have been able to get at).  The car was taken off to a garage.  I suspect it is a specialist garage that has headhunted some of those oriental women with the tiny hands who you always see on film in Korean or Japanese electronics factories doing all the delicate work that blokes with their ham fists and sausage fingers could not do.

I happened to look over my shoulder and just caught her grinning and clapping her hands together.

Surely such little moments are the ones we live for, and one of the genuine pleasures of parenthood is when you have the power to create such happiness.  Even if it will only last until the first time she runs out of petrol a couple of days before pay-day.

Not that a great big estate car is something a new driver really wants to be driving anyway, especially when it comes to the parking.  Not after spending all their lessons in small hatchbacks.

When I passed my test (in my late 20′s) I didn’t buy a car for a couple of years.  In fact, after I passed it was a full six months before I drove anything at all.  That was a company pool car so I could get to a meeting, and I had to take a few minutes to remember what all the pedals were for.  I suspect Chrystal is not going to be as patient as I was.

To tell the truth though, it is a bit of a relief that she will not be on the road much, if at all, for a while.  Each week the local papers are full of stories of  crashes, pictures of cars wrapped around lamp posts and coverage of funerals for young drivers and the protective aprt of me would still prefer to see her miserable than mangled.

Still… she has a weekend job and can now save up all the money she would otherwise have been paying on lessons, so maybe she will be in a position to get a little runaround.  Or she could spend it all on lottery tickets and be in with a chance of being able to afford insurance on a small runaround if she gets six numbers.

Front bumper of a Cadillac. Or Chevy. Or something. What do I know about these things?

We went down to Worthing today.   The main reason was to get some shoes for Chrystal (there is a Brantano shop there with a decent choice of large sizes) but really it was an excuse to go to the seaside too, and get a Sunday roast at the Warwick.

After lunch we walked round the corner and found the Steyne gardens absolutely crammed full of classic American cars.

I am by no means a big car fan, but there is something about all those Mustangs, Firebirds and Stingrays…   There were also some fantastic pickup trucks and station wagons – and masterpieces of chrome and fins.

There was even a proper Gran Torino all kitted out in the Starsky & Hutch paintjob.

These cars are so much more interesting than modern cars, which have all been made to look the same thanks to wind tunnels.  The American cars of the 50s and 60s owe as much to art as they do to science: not so much machines as sculptures in chrome.

The Skudmobile in happier days

On Friday afternoon I got the phone call I had been half-expecting: the insurance company called to say that my car is not worth repairing.

A shame really.  With the very few miles I actually need to drive it is hardly worth having a car, but I got used to having this.Now I just have to wait and see how much they think it was worth, and after hearing friends’ insurance valuation tales that is a call I am really not looking forward to.  The chances are that I will not even get back the £800 I had to spend on servicing in the last two years.

I am guessing I will not get enough to buy a similar car, which to my mind rather defeats the purpose of insurance.    The other challenge will be trying to retrieve the stereo from it.  Not that I have anything to put it in, but its the principle – it was a Christmas present from the Mrs.

Looks like a good time to start using the bicycle again and revert to plan A of taking a CBT.  Before Dad died, leaving a car that nobody else wanted,  I was on the brink of doing a CBT because I reckoned a scooter would be enough for the small number of short journeys I do.   I have got used to having a second car now – but I don’t think it is too late to re-adjust to having just the one.

I have had someone roll into the back of me in traffic queues before, with such slight a impact that there was not even a scratch on either car, but this time I really felt it.  Not only that but the back bumper is pushed in enough that I can’t open the boot any more.

At least we were both insured and both cars are still driveable, but looking at the motor now I wish I had stayed at home – especially as hardly anybody I called on was in and I am going to have to go back out again now.

Last week Top Gear sang its praises, which gave me second thoughts.  I think I will just wait until somebody resurrects and re-invents the Morris Minor¹ giving it the new-Mini/New-Beetle treatment and then lust after that instead.

1. surely it’s only a matter of time