Which special car features and add-ons would tip the balance if it was you doing the choosing? Erica Munro ponders her deepest driving desires.
You’ve got two days to spend in beautiful Oxfordshire. So, what do you do?
Take a tour of the university’s golden spires? Gawp conflictedly at the opulence of Blenheim Palace? Sell your house to buy 10 last-season designer handbags at Bicester Village outlet shopping centre?
I did none of these things. Instead, I had a lovely time visiting car showrooms up and down the county with my son, scouting for his first car.
Not a car buff, his wish list was small and, thankfully, mirrored mine. We’d done lots of online research before setting off and felt reasonably confident that, with courage and a following wind, we’d manage to narrow down the longlist to just one or two.
Something midsized and safe, new-ish, with an automatic gearbox and just enough power to comfortably handle a busy daily commute, plus the occasional long-haul expedition back home to the Highlands.
He definitely didn’t want to spend extra money on glittery paint, alloy wheels, leather trim, racing seats (or, in his words, “gaming chairs”), ambient lighting or any button that had the word “sport” written on it. In short, his “spec” requirements were disappointingly rudimentary for the salesmen and women we encountered on our mission.
Which didn’t stop most of them from spending an inordinate amount of time educating us about performance, engine capacities, brake horsepower, turbo and the like, pointing out minute differences between models as we nodded along, too polite to interrupt with: “Can’t I just sit in it and see if it feels nice?” Oh, no, a spiel’s a spiel, and we sat through the same one about eight times.
I had plenty of time, sitting in endless showrooms, not really listening (“I’m his mum! Ignore me!”), to think up some specs of my own. What features and add-ons would tip the balance if it had been me doing the choosing?
Hot drinks and clean hands on the go
First up, any car that provided a dedicated space for storing my handbag would get an instant five-star review from me. My handbag contains no more life essentials than any other woman’s, but it often sets off the seat belt bongs if I put it on the passenger seat. So, I put it on the floor where, obviously, it gets grubby, and frequently vomits its contents all over the muddy rubber mat. Maybe that’s a me problem but, hey – my list, my rules.
I’d like a kettle. And the means of boiling it, please. How delightful it would be to brew fresh tea or coffee, or a cheeky Cup-a-Soup, during stops on long journeys. Insulated cups, with their mouth-scalding little lid-holes, don’t stay hot for all that long anyway, and hot drinks out of a thermos taste spooky.
While we’re at it, how about turning that most pointless of cubbies, the glovebox, into a little fridge? That way, there’s fresh milk for your coffee, cold drinks and a cheerful, chilled picnic lunch all tucked up, without needing to heave a cool box into the boot.
Then I thought: “Hmm, sticky fingers.” A built-in paper hankie dispenser comes next, please. Yes, I’m dreaming big. No more scrabbling in my bag or pocket for tissues, or kicking a Kleenex box around the passenger footwell.
Then, for all this snacking and nose-blowing, I obviously require a bin. What a game changer it would be not to have to grub up tissues, car park tickets, stinky apple cores and sweetie papers from all around the vehicle after a long journey. Just a neat a wee baggie, snapped away somewhere ingenious, out of sight and mind ’til I get home.
A standardised rear ‘thank you’ light
I’d like my windscreen to adapt itself to filter out the glare of the sun, especially on those winter days when its rays can be terrifyingly low and fierce. They can do it for spectacles, after all – why not cars? Being small, pull-down sun visors don’t help me much on such days, and when I clamp my giant sunglasses on top of my actual glasses, I feel like a crazy old lady in goggles.
Finally, I feel car designers could do more to aid motoring etiquette. Most of us are courteous motorists, but I’m a worrier, too. Did he see me wave? Should I try again? Maybe pip my hazard lights – wait – where’s the hazard button again? Down here? Oh, no, I’ve crashed…
Pity the poor salesperson who gets me when I start looking for my next car
So, I want a standardised rear “thank you” light, maybe in mauve, with a smiley face, controlled by a button on the steering wheel. Come to think of it, perhaps I’d get just as much use out of a universal “oops, sorry!” light as well.
Pity the poor salesperson who gets me when I start looking for my next car. Just imagine what they’re in for as they show me to their desks, lean back and enquire: “So, madam, what is it that you’re after?”
Erica Munro is a novelist, playwright, screenwriter and freelance editor
Conversation