Mark's door

Kerry, my sister-in-law, picked a new car at an auction this week to replace her rapidly ailing Peugeot. The Peugeot served Kerry well and I've got to admit even I'd grown quite fond of the car over the years, aided no doubt by it's anthropomorphised nickname, "Baby Clio". It'll be a sad day indeed when Baby Clio soon meets her final fate.

Still, having ridden in her replacement, a Ford Fiesta, earlier this evening, I have to say that the improvements on Baby Clio are manifold, with one feature in particular winning major kudos from me. Never having learned to drive myself, I invariably spend a lot of time being ferried back and forth at the mercy of kind soles who fared better in their driving lessons than I, and Nicky and Kerry have been particularly kind to me in that regards over the last year. Thus you can imagine the difference that extra pair of doors at the rear of the car makes to my travels. A grand total of four doors compared to Baby Clio's mere two. No longer do I have to flip forward the front seats to squeeze into the narrow space behind them. Instead I have a door of my own, a door already christened "Mark's door".

It's not much I admit, but the simple act of stepping out of a car, rather than unfolding yourself from the back seat is oddly empowering. Though probably not as much as sitting in the seat up front with the wheel before it...