YOU can all relax, we are definitely in for a mild, snow-free winter this year.
I can say this unequivocally because, after two years of humming and hawing, I have this week taken the plunge and bought a four-wheel-drive car in readiness for the Arctic conditions we are probably not going to have now.
After years of cursing other drivers of these beasts – namely macho men and ladies who lunch – for their maddening traits of treating our narrow Pennine roads like their personal driveways and taking up two spaces in supermarket car parks, I have finally given in and joined their ranks.
I’ve been forced into this position by a number of incidents and am considering claiming the cost of the vehicle back from Kirklees Council. If they spent even a small percentage of our Council Tax on gritting the roads properly, a normal car would suffice.
The first unhappy incident occurred the winter before last. After gamely driving down to Slaithwaite in a blizzard for a computer class – only to find it had been cancelled – I craftily decided to avoid the one-hour tailback down Manchester Road by taking the snowy back roads home.
Big mistake. As I lurched over the picturesque white crest of a hill at speed, the road went round a bend and I didn’t. My car careered straight into a 10ft high dry stone wall. It’s a testament to the craftsmen of bygone years that the wall remained as good as new, although my front end was completely crumpled.
Duly chastened, I left the car by the gritted village bus stop some quarter of a mile away last winter. This was fine for the first few days, but after several weeks of having to trudge through foot-high snow to get home every day, the novelty wore off.
The crunch came when we ran out of wine and had to lug substantial emergency supplies through enormous snowdrifts. We were tempted just to stay in the car and glug it all down at the bus stop. It was only the sober thought that we would never make it home afterwards which prevented us from doing so.
Even after all this, I have not made my new purchase lightly.
For umpteen months I’ve poured over the tiny figures in Parker’s Used Car Price Guide with a magnifying glass. Honest John’s website has been set to My Favourites and Haymarket Media Group profits have soared as I have shelled out for countless What Car magazines. I bought a year’s subscription to Which just to read the car reviews.
My family’s eyes have glazed over as I have regularly embarked on monologues discussing the finer points of the Ford Kuga’s racy looks and impressive fuel economy, versus the build quality and superior suspension of the Honda CR-V.
Friends’ heads have slumped into gravy-laden platefuls of roast chickens (which I have cooked, I might add… you have to tempt them round somehow) as I have compared the merits of the frugal 2.2 litre 148 bhp diesel engine with the thirstier, but cheaper, 2 litre petrol alternative.
In the end I plumped for neither. I went for what I could afford, which wasn’t much. I saw the car on the internet and picked it up from a garage in Leeds last Saturday.
What joy, why had I fought it for so long? I love the chunkiness of my new 4x4. And the high driving position is fantastic, I’m Queen of the Road. So far I’ve fought the overwhelming temptation to drive it down the middle of the road.
For 24 wonderful hours, I rode around in my lovely new chariot. Then disaster struck. My friend Giles arrived on Sunday afternoon for his chicken roast.
I was looking forward to telling him about the spacious cabin, sharp handling and impressive Euro NCAP safety ratings before I fed him. So he dutifully trotted down to the garage and I pressed the unlock button. Nothing. Nada.
I pressed it again and still nothing happened. I opened the door manually with the key and turned the ignition. We nearly had a heart attack when the alarm went off at full blast.
It has not moved since. As I write, the car is still totally immobilised. Dead as a dodo.
I’m just praying that we don’t have a heavy snowfall this September.
