As intimated in the last post, we finally took the plunge that had been threatening for a year or so and consigned the Escort to the great scrap heap in the sky. A pity we couldn't afford a brand new car while the scrappage scheme was still running, but such are the whims of finance. But having hummed and ha'd since February when the annual road tax came along I finally got my act in gear to have a proper look a couple of weeks ago when a spot of vigourous washing caused bits to fall off.
And now we have jumped from the ship of Ford (three Escorts and a Fiesta have ferried me from A to B since I passed my test) and hitched ourselves to a Citroen C3. That one in the picture there. OK, so it's no supercar but it gets me around just fine, and I do like the looks. Plus I'm quite pleased with the £30 road tax and lack of thirst. A little bit noisy from the tyres at speed, but that's easy to live with compared to the money we were blowing just to keep the old one going.
My only worry now is that I seem to have chosen a car based on economy and value and reliability and, well, boring stuff. Yes, it is quite curvy but we still have a small hatchback on our hands not some fire breathing monster you need a shoehorn to get in and out of. Having finally reached the stage in life where I could afford to have a serious go at a nippy two-seater convertible I've gone all sensible. And I've still got 7½ months until my 40th Birthday.
What next? Blue Harbour slacks with an elasticated waistband here I come.
