"To Portsmouth, to Portsmouth, to buy a new car
Home again, home again, yippa-de-da!"
To be honest, I feel incredibly sad at
the thought of selling my Grand Old Lady. But our new car will transport Mr B and me, plus a Shoprider mobility scooter, in supreme comfort. Well, I'm not sure exactly how comfortable the scooter will be, it being an inanimate object, don't you know, but Mr
B can get in and out of the passenger seat with relative ease and, as for me, I feel like a lorry driver, sitting up so high in the driver's seat. All I need is a Yorkie bar or two and I'll be One Of The Lads.
to the garage in Portsmouth is kind of stressful. We are fine until we near our destination when I am looking to Mr B to study the sheet of directions I have printed off the website and read them aloud to me. Instead he resorts to his usual method of navigation
which is pointing erratically in the general direction in which he believes I should be driving and expecting me to mind read. When I fail miserably, he can then be heard complaining loudly that I have taken the wrong road, albeit the one in which his jabbing
finger appeared to be pointing.
I turn in desperation to the Kind Person on the SatNav who never, ever, moans at me, not even when she finds it necessary on many an occasion to advise me to "turn around when
possible". Moreover she doesn't have a finger to point. Personally, I consider this a bonus. Even with her assistance, it is a surprise to us both when we actually arrive at our destination and make the acquaintance of Chris to whom I spoke on the phone yesterday.
He doesn't appear surprised that we have turned up half an hour later than our appointment but perhaps he thought we were a No Show and is just delighted we have found our way in the end?
It's a completely
different business buying a car like this. I mean, you have to check all the normal things - but our main concerns are questions like the operation of the ramp, the space for the scooter and how to tether it securely, ease of access. I am delighted to discover
that the ramp is electric and therefore comes with its own remote control. This is particularly exciting because I am not allowed possession of any of the remote controls at home, all of which - the TV, the Sky, the gas fire, the awning - are considered Mr
B's domain. I decide that the Ramp Remote will be mine, all mine.
We do the paperwork, pay a deposit and finally make our way home. I get a little bit lost finding my way out of Portsmouth but not for long.
Mr B shakes his head sorrowfully. Hopefully when I pick up our new car on Monday week, I will know exactly where I am going...
It's going to be so liberating for Mr B to be able to go more or less wherever
he wants to. Have scooter, and scooter accessible vehicle, can travel. It shall be our new motto. Where shall we go first when we get our new wheels, I ask him as we hurtle along the A27 on our way back home. "Let's just get home, shall we?" he says.
It must be supremely frustrating for someone like Mr B to be forced to sit in the passenger seat watching me cautiously negotiating every roundabout, slowing down on the approach to a junction at least a hundred yards
before it is necessary, letting people out of side roads ahead of me, even when I clearly have right of way. "It's an ARK, an a Act of Random Kindness," I tell him, defensively. He retorts that it is JPS - Just Plain Stupid. We shall have to agree to differ,
What I don't say is that She Who Drives Calls The Shots. People talk about "being in the driving seat" for a reason.
I'd rather like to go back to
being driven around like Lady Muck. It would be, well, restful. But, hey, we are where we are (yes, we are home, safe and sound) and, as the Youngest of the Darling Daughters commented when I relayed to her the information about our latest purchase, The World
Is Now Our Oyster.
It shall be my Driving Ambition.