The day the car died

Our Peugeot died last Saturday. It was very sad. Mole is still mourning the loss a week later. She looks out of the living room window at the empty space in front of our house and says in a confused voice “Where’s my car?”. I hope to god she’s pleased with the new one when it comes.

I was more relieved than sad, mainly because Peugeot has been the bane of our lives for the past two years since we bought it, with something going wrong roughly every two months. We were finally going to trade it in after being quoted £700 to fix some obscure problems with the exhaust. Then on the day in question, it wouldn’t start, so we couldn’t even get it to the garage. The breakdown guy revealed that the starter motor was jammed. It’s as if Peugeot knew. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily” it grinned.

So, an ‘adventure’ taxi ride ensued with Mole and Hedgehog, car seats and nappy bags, to the local dealership. Have you ever carried the contents of your ex-car with you across a garage forecourt? it makes you feel a bit like a gypsy. I spent the afternoon test driving and talking with sales people, while Mole, Hedgehog and Mr M&H played in the Lego corner. The test driving was admittedly quite fun, any kind of shopping is fun. Mole and Hedgehog also seemed to have a good time. Mole ran circles round the room playing airplanes, while Hedgehog crawled after her at the pace of a tortoise. I sat doing the paperwork and tried not to notice. My head was full of warranties and log books and car insurance premiums. By the end of the afternoon my head was on strike and demanding wine.

Three hours later and Hyundai selected, we couldn’t take it away for another week. Cue another taxi ride home, in which the driver quizzed us about our purchase and proceeded to tell us all the things we should have done differently. I almost wish Mole had thrown up on his back seat, or at least stunk out his taxi with a massive pooh.

Later on we had the treacherous Peugeot towed away, most likely for scrap, but for a small wodge of cash in my pocket. Mole stood in the doorway watching Peugeot disappearing down the road and without warning burst into tears. “My car!” she sobbed. I forget how traumatic change is for children.

The day ended with popcorn and The Muppets movie, the perfect antidote to a horrible day. I slightly misjudged the amount of popcorn to pan expansion ratio and ended up with this (see below). With a sprinkling of brown sugar it was amazing. Hedgehog munched her way through it at a rate which was disturbing. That evening, I realised that when sh*t is going down, the love of a good man and two little people will see you through.