Growl

With the arrival of Darth Baby, the ute isn’t so sensible anymore. The baby-agency ladies frowned at my suggestion of just disengaging the airbag and fitting the car-seat in the passenger side of the cabin and they looked at me funny when I suggested facing it backwards in the tray, just on top of the lock-box.

So, with a mid-weight heart, I’ve had to get rid of the vehicle that has supplied so much entertainment over the past few years. Who can forget, “There’s a wet mattress in the back of your ute and the forecast is for two more weeks of rain,” and “I’m sure a cupboard was in there when we left, well that saves carrying it up the stairs.”

It’s time for me to grow up and get ‘family oriented’. I researched four-door, family sedans with good mileage, airbags and reasonable resale. Last weekend, with that knowledge under my belt and sensibleness in my head, economics in my heart and role model in my pants I went and hit the auto markets…  and bought a Four-litre V8, S-Class Jag. 

‘Allo Beastie!

Nothing screams family transport like cream leather, walnut dash, electronic seat memory and a supercharger blowing a decent sized eight, built by the lads in white coats in Coventry. Nothing. Let me explain - Shut up.

I know what I’m getting into and it’s a pretty quick and handy train trip to work.