We also bought our new car this week (the fifth of The Five): a VW Polo. The Polo was a bargain: a year old and with just 7000 miles on the clock, it's a small car but really fun to drive. We decided to get a smaller car than we're used to, to suit our new city lifestyles. It's easier to manoeuvre through the narrow streets of Highgate, easier to park, and cheaper to run than any car we've owned before. However there are two problems with it that require immediate customisation. The first is the floor, which needs protecting by a nice set of car mats. The second is the horn. Oh dear, the horn. This may be a common lament among small car owners (that's owners of small cars, not small owners of cars), but the horn on the Polo is the weediest, wimpiest thing I've ever heard. When you decide the situation calls for use of the horn you're likely to be either angry or scared, and in both cases you need your horn blast to quickly, efficiently, and emphatically to convey your desired message. This is most often one of the following:
- PAARP! Get out of the way you idiot!
- HONNNKKKK! More important person than you coming through!
- BBEEEEEPPPP! Watch out!
peep "I say, sorry to bother you, but would you mind moving aside please, if it's not too much trouble. Thanks very much."
It's hard to adequately describe how pathetically weedy the horn sounds on our new car, so on Monday I'm going to finalise the pimping of my ride, and complement my killer set of car mats with a macho horn upgrade I can be proud of.
You know you're getting old when stuff like this gets you excited.