UNTOUCHED BY HUMAN HAND

I've bought three cars from new in my motoring life. The first two were in the 80's, the third was last year.

What I can't get my head around is that way back then, when you bought a new car, you had to 'run it in'. This meant driving it at snail's pace for the first 1000 miles or risk ruining the engine on your new-found love before you became properly acquainted. 

Then after the 'running in' period, you had to get it back to the garage pronto so that they could tighten up all the bolts which would have worked loose and check for leaks and other faults which would show up the bad workmanship in the first place.

One of those cars had to be collected from London and as I proudly drove it away, it stuttered to a standstill just down the road because - get this - they had forgotten to put a water pump in the car. Presumably there was no such thing as quality control.

Yet the car I bought last year needed none of this. When I collected it they were quite happy for me to drive away like Michael Schumacher. 

Then after giving it a good workout, I took it in for its first service after 15,000 miles.

Of course there is a simple explanation. My first two cars were man-made. The latest was made by robots. 

I wonder if you can get a robot to do the gardening?

AIRY FAIRY

Considering the rubbish Spring weather we've been having it was an unusually hot day. Probably one of three this year. 

Anyway, my dear wife, Sally, was transporting me to a nearby emporium of delights which we call Sainsburys. So, having checked my medical insurance (don't tell her this), I was sitting in the passenger seat and she was driving.

Like I said, it was warm. The car was warm. I was warm. So I opened the window. At least, I pressed the button but nothing happened. I pointed out my dilemma and my wife went into a despondent mood of doom and gloom. She explained that the window on my side had stopped working and she'd been meaning to visit the garage to get it fixed but was waiting until after payday in anticipation of a hefty bill.

Switching into hero mode in order to employ my damsel in distress skills I gently enquired whether she had tried pushing the big button on the driver's door armrest. "No" she replied "I don't know what it does". "Try it" I suggested. She did and I opened my window. 

"Now close it" she said. I did. "Now open it again". I did. "That's amazing! "How did you do that?". I explained about child locks.

"So I wont have to go to the garage and spend out on it. Brilliant!"

My brownie points total was instantly credited and with the minimum of effort. Before you ask, yes my wife is blonde.

A LOOK IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR

This morning was chilly and frosty. As I approached my Mini Cooper S Diesel, I pressed the remote unlock on my key fob and then climbed in and switched on the heated seat control. I plugged in my USB memory stick, pressed the 'start' button and drove off to the sound of Adele singing 'Make you feel my love'.

Rewind to a similarly chilly and frosty morning thirty three years ago. I walk up to the door of my Fiat 128 saloon, put the key in the door and unlock it. It being chilly, I pull out the 'choke' button to make the fuel richer while the engine warms up. I must remember to push it in later to save petrol.

I put the key into the ignition and turn it. The engine starts. I root around in my cassette box and choose a tape by Blondie. I push it into the slot and rewind the tape to the beginning. Next I open the ash tray in readiness, pull out a cigarette, for I was a smoker back then, and use the lighter on the dashboard to light it.

I drive off to the sound of Blondie singing 'Heart of Glass' as the inside of the car slowly fills with cigarette smoke.

How times have changed.

MINI MEMO

Well if this doesn't convince you that I need therapy nothing will.

I'm loving my new car. However, it does pose a few new problems - well three to be precise.

Firstly, if I plug my phone into the mini's brain, my car will then do things like talk to me or on occasion, talk to itself. I let it do it's thing, not wishing to interrupt. The problem is that I keep finding that when I go into my home and need to text someone, my phone is still nestling comfortably back in the car.

Secondly, in keeping with my new car's image, I have a variety of glasses to choose from when driving. There are my everyday glasses. There are my driving glasses in a tasteful shade of yellow tint. There are my night-driving glasses in a rather more vivid yellow tint and of course there are my sunglasses which are my rather feeble attempt to look cool.

The problem here is that when I have just entered my house to discover that I have left my phone in the car, I find myself wondering why my wife has put on yellow make-up whilst she in turn is wondering whether to query my jaundiced eye sockets. So I have to return to the car to change back to my normal spectacles.

Finally, there is the issue with my door mirrors. They can fold back safely out of the way when I park but of course, if I fail to remember to unfold them, I catch myself driving off and suddenly discovering that I can't see whether it is safe to overtake.

So I applied myself to the problem of these three things to remember to do both before setting off and also before getting out of the car at my destination. Mirrors. Phone. Glasses. Eureka! M-P-G as in 'miles per gallon'.

So if you see a bright new mini with a yellow post-it note on the car window with the letters MPG written on it, you will know who it belongs to.

MINI MADNESS

I suppose there is a chance that I'm going through a mid-life crisis. My family certainly seem to think so.

With women it often manifests itself by having Botox or a facelift. I had a male friend who demonstrated his by digging a huge hole in the garden, filling it with water and then tipping a bag full of coy carp into it. His wife just gazes out at it every day with a bemused and puzzled expression.

More representative of the male midlife crisis is the sudden purchase of a Harley Davidson. In my own case, I am about to swap my beloved Jaguar (the one on wheels rather than the jungle version) for a brand new mini (the one on wheels not the short skirt which I keep for fancy dress parties).

The deed was done following a short period of drooling with desire over the brochures. An hour and a half test drive followed during which I could be seen as a senior go-karter whizzing up and down the motorway with a grinning expression all over my face akin to that of Jack Nicholson's in 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'.

I could tell you of a few thousand reasons why I get a buzz out of the mini but I will limit myself to one - 'Dynamic Music'. When I get my new car, I shall be able to plug in my beloved i-Phone and my mini will then proceed to play a selected music track based on the way I am driving the car.

I can picture it now. 'Oh yes, sorry I was speeding officer. I was just trying to get the mini to play a track by Led Zeppelin'.

WANDA LUST

It had to happen sooner or later. I've got rid of the lady in my life. There was nothing wrong with her - it was just time to move on. Anyway, it's not as if we'll never see each other again. I've put her in a cupboard in case I might have need of her in the future. Her name was 'Helga' and she was my SatNav lady.

My wife and I were very fond of her. Although she apparently has a Dutch accent, we named her 'Helga' and she really became part of our family. She guided us through many of our journeys in life, only occasionally leading us into a dead end. Most notably, she helped some friends and ourselves travel the length and breadth of Norway. Since then, those friends often sign off letters and emails with 'Love to you both and to Helga'.

But now I have a new car and the SatNav is built-in so Helga has become redundant. This has given us the problem of finding a name for our new lady. She has a pleasant, 'plummy' and very English accent and so far, the top of our list of names for her is 'Wanda'. Any other suggestions?

Did I mention that I find her voice very sexy? Perhaps I am suffering from Wanda lust.