Things that make you go [beep]

Having spent several hours mired in the joys of baby poo, it’s a difficult time of day to get creative. But needs must, and the memories of the splendid performances of both my children in this area should provide piles of inspiration.

Ahem.

To change the subject.

Further to my post of a few months ago when I swore that I would never, ever, again buy an appliance that beeped, pinged or buzzed at me, I’ve only gone and done it again. And this time, it’s not just an over-eager microwave that wants me to ‘get on with it’ or a world-weary fridge that just wants me to shut the door. Oh no. This time it’s larger. Much larger.

And it talks.

As discussed, now that the World’s Most Boring Car is doing burn-outs in Heaven, I have a new vehicle. Which I reverse-parked for the first time, last Friday, highlighting my lack of spatial awareness. So far, so not-new.

What I failed to mention, however, was that said new car talks to me. Not in an ‘I see Dead People’ kind of way. Not even in a useful ‘At the next roundabout, turn right’ kind of way. She nags. And becomes insistent. And then, as the final straw, beeps wildly.

Her name is Theresa (the car is green and so Mr6 named it Theresa Green after his favourite knock-knock joke – email me if you need me to take you through it). And she is the voice of the Reversing Sensor.

I first met Theresa on day one of driving the new car. I was reversing out the driveway, not a vehicle, jumping gate, person or telegraph pole in sight, when she suddenly spoke, loudly, with one of those mid-Atlantic accents, right above Mr3’s head. “One Point Five Metres,” she said, with authority and a small amount of beeping.

I stopped. The boys and I had an animated discussion about this crazy lady speaking from nowhere, and I double-checked to see what was behind me.

There was nothing.

I continued. “One Metre,” she said, beginning to sound alarmed, warning beep buzzing faster and louder. If I was calm before this began, my heart was now beginning to beat faster.

I looked again.

Nothing.

I proceeded out onto the road. “Point Six Metres,” she shrieked at me, alarm sounding wildly, kids and I all freaking out trying to work out what the hell she was on about.

We didn’t hit anything.

We drove off.

She shut up.

When I discussed this small moment of excitement with The Builder that evening, he quickly worked out that Theresa was angled down as we reversed and was sensing the road. Helpful that.

So now I not only have two ever-talking, ever-bickering, never-quiet boys in the back seat to keep me company when I drive the mean streets of Fibrotown. I have Theresa. Who has something to say about a lot of things.

You should have heard her going off when I tried that reverse park the other night – “Three Metres,” she shrieked, not even bothering to remain calm. Or perhaps it’s all in my perception. It’s hard to pick up on tonal differences in a mechanical voice when you’re exercising your creaky spatial muscles.

When I was a kid, I wanted a car that talked, like KITT from the KnightRider. Be careful what you wish for.

{image: wallpaperstock.net}

Searching for Truly Comprehensive Insurance

A short post today. The adrenaline has finally worn off from Friday and I’ve run out of puff. Good stuff that adrenaline. Has some kick to it.

The Builder and I are searching for a new car. We are both thinking that it’s time that insurance companies offered Truly Comprehensive Insurance (TCI). Under a TCI policy, the company would find you another car, to your specifications, and have it delivered to your door. With a driver. Without TCI, you’re left dazed and confused, with no car, no clear idea of what you’re going to buy and no real time in which to do it.

The trouble is that one car looks much like another. Strip away the advertising and you’re left with a basically grey interior, steering wheel, gear stick, brake and accelerator. Even the exterior colours seem to come down to white, silver or that weird goldy brown colour that looks faded by the sun.

The World’s Most Boring Car is starting to look good by comparison. May it rest in peace.

The worst part is that we’ll have another car to name. Just last week we had to confess to Mr6 that he has the kind of parents who name their cars. Mr3 thought it perfectly normal – he still inhabits a world where vehicles are called Scoop, Muck, Dizzy and Roary. Mr6 was less sure. Already he’s crossing over into the real world, where the stuff his parents do is bound and destined to embarrass him at some point.

Cars named Victor, Harry and Kit fall into this category. Kit, with its KnightRider overtones, is particularly good, I think.

But I reckon we can do even better with the next one. We'll dig deep to that place from whence celebrities draw their children's names and come up with a cracker. I don't see The Builder going for Apple (the [insert boring family sedan of your choice]) but Suri might work. Cruising, Suri... Oh dear. Maybe not. Mr6 is right to be very, very afraid.