Life lessons from old cars

The Little Micra has developed another ailment. A fairly minor one, annoying more than anything. Not a gamechanger, but another rustily subtle reminder that he is on his way out. I wondered about getting a new car, well a nearly new, but I think I'm genetically programmed to need the character of an older gentleman of the vehicle disposition. People with new cars get mad when they break, it's just not meant to happen. When the Micra breaks I get more grateful for every trip. Well done, little fellow, you are clinging on in there. Quite remarkably well I think, 50 runkly, noisy miles a day.

There are a few driving lessons better unlearned - like judging your speed by the noise and rattling of your uninsulated bubble, rather than the fully functioning speedometer. You have to be going very, very fast before a normal car reaches those decibels. Foot to the floor braking, taking off in third gear...those kinds of things make you look a bit heavy footed and incompetent in a car that doesn't need quite the same geeing up. Let's be more Top Gear and call it handling. It handles differently. Classically.

When I was wee it felt like there was a 50/50 chance the car would start, which fairly lowers your expectations of car travel. Imagine being grateful just for the car starting - that is a whole heap of grateful every single week. I learned, early on, the shame of breaking down in a heavily trafficked area. There's only so much you can do, and embarrassment doesn't get you far. We had some pretty cool break downs - Le Mans for one, Lockerbie (admittedly not as cool, but a spectacularly bad start to the many 100s of miles to the South of France. It may have been a sign from the Gods to turn back. Parentos didn't listen to the gods...). And witnessing these, I think, gave me an underlying calm when it came to driving (passengers in the early days might dispute that...).

There are not many things that teach you the power of confident driving in the face of terror and adversity like seeing your mother negotiate the series of roundabouts that is the Kingsway in Dundee with 4 young children in a rickety van that would not change out of third gear. What better way to learn about gears than seeing your father negotiate his way down a steep hill with a series of traffic lights, using only the gears and handbrake after the brakes failed. Apologising profusely to the police, Are you aware your brake light isn't working...? And now I feel, in the same situation I'd be...well maybe calm(er). How better to learn about patience than leapfrogging up the A9 in a Daimler Limousine that puffed steam when it got tired and needed a rest. Old cars, life lessons.

And then there are the practical lessons. Clearing rural Aberdeenshire of coolant to get you to the boat in time without overheating. That did involve scouring the manual to find where coolant went. Not as embarrassing as scouring the manual to find out how to open the bonnet so I could top up my screenwash. Less embarassing still than scouring the manual to find out what the bright blue D with the lines coming out of it meant, and why everyone was sheilding their eyes and flashing at me...that was, in my defence, my second outing in the Micra, having learned to drive in the height of summer.

And Jump starts and bump starts. I'm still not sure I know how to do the bump starting...having failed to jump start 3 times while plugged into an ambulance (thankfully I think the people they jump start have a better success rate) I opted out of being in charge of the bump start on the third length of the hospital car park, kindly pushed by the same ambulance men, when it dawned on me I might be doing it wrong...and there was surely only so much strain you should put on an on-shift member of the emergency services. The ever-helpful Gear was on hand to do the bump starting. I think she's a life-lessons-from-old-cars sort too.

I've never left my lights on since. Not because I have an alarm, but because I have learned. Calling an ambulance (not 999....) to jump start your car? That accelerates the learning to switch your lights off process dramatically.

More recently the little man has sprung a leak, leaving a soggy passenger footwell. Which lead to a hilarious example of good old British politeness, Oh God, I'm so sorry I forgot to tell you about the puddle I'm so sorry.... (after an hour round trip) Oh, no no! It's me, I always wear inappropriate shoes, my feet are always cold and wet! Really...?

Most recently one of the hydraulic stick things that opens the boot as started popping off if I close the boot to strongly (which I'm prone to doing having driven home from town once with the boot open, not noticing until I was nearly 20 miles in. It really is that loud and that cold in the Micra). I just pop it back on. As I said, not a game changer, but soon they might all add up, and all I'll be left with is one hydraulic stick with no more car to speak of...then I'll miss the little fellow.