Bauer FX3 Roller Blades

It’s been a bit of a quiet week in the world of Chauffeur Monkey. Last night I did the same job for the same people in the same cars as my last post, so there’s not much to say that I’ve not already said (except I got back later because the Dartford Crossing was closed at 2 in the morning – riveting stuff no?).

However, seeing as I’ve been well and truly savaged by the ‘writing bug’, I thought I’d have a little meander off the beaten track and talk about my roller blades while I’m waiting for another posh car to dribble over.

Now, pray excuse my impending self deprecation……

I don’t think I’m actually very good at anything. That’s not to say I can’t do anything, I can do loads of stuff. I can juggle, play the guitar, do card tricks, converse with old people, make daisy chains, put up shelves, do a Scottish accent, you know, all the essential stuff. But I’m not very good at any of it.

It’s quite a depressing train of thought to get bogged down in, and it happens more often than I’d like to admit. However, every now and again I chance to recall that there is one thing I can do that may be an exception to the rule….. I’m actually very good at roller-blading.

I’m not world class or anything like that, but I reckon I’m better than you.

I’ve been skating since I was 13, but unlike most grown ups, I have a real problem with letting teenage pastimes go (I’m also still well into computer games and not talking to my parents).

More to the point, I’ve been skating in the same skates since I was 13. My beloved Bauer FX3’s were purchased in 1993 and remain one of my most treasured possessions. To put that into perspective, I’ve been skating in these bad boys since the days of Boom! Shake the Room, Spliffy Jeans and Mrs Doubtfire.

The wheels have undergone numerous changes and I have long since removed the brakes – brakes are for losers (and people who like to stop), but aside from that they’ve never let me down and - at the time of writing - I’ve only fallen over in them twice since I bought them, once in 1994, and the other in 2011. Both times were in front of an unnecessarily large group of obnoxious piss-taking teenagers. I managed not to cry on one of these occasions. I’m not saying which.  

At 13 years old I was convinced that girls loved guys with wheels on their feet. 19 years later I’m starting to think I may have been barking up the wrong tree.

Many a summer’s evening would find me at the local Travis Perkins speeding up and down in the car park whilst wondering what made me look cooler, my skates, my Spliffy Jeans or my new haircut – short at the back, curtains at the front, with tramlines shaved in the sides.

Well, the hair and trousers may have changed – I was going to have to have sex eventually – but the skates, battered and bruised as they most definitely are, have stayed with me and despite my comical age for such activities, I can’t quite let them go.

I know I look ridiculous in them. I know that other parents in the park aren’t looking at me with quiet awe, wishing in their hearts that they were as cool as me. I know they’re making sure they can see their own children and estimating my immediate proximity to them

I know this, but I just can’t let them go yet.

Why? Who knows, but I reckon I should probably set some sort of deadline for when I finally yield to adulthood. I know… When I’ve got more hair on my back than I have on my head, I’ll stop.

……… Hmm, looks like I’m nearly due for my last ride.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/Ihavewrites

Twitter: @Ihavewrites

The Mercedes E Class Cabriolet Vs a Honda Jazz

Warning! This post contains trace amounts of ironic sexism. Please do not take literally, there’s a love. In fact, what are you doing reading this anyway? Shouldn’t you be doing the ironing or something?

Every now and again I’m required to do quite long haul chauffeuring work for Chauffeur Monkey, which involves getting picked up in a car, being dropped off at the start point, driving the customer home in their car while the other driver follows behind, and then being driven home again.

Such was my job last night in a Honda Jazz and an E Class Merc respectively, except I opted to drive in both cars purely for research purposes.

The Mercedes E Class Cabriolet is a big, sexy, slick, convertible fanny magnet. That is to say that it’s a convertible car that attracts fanny, not that it's a car that attracts convertible fannies…. Well it might do, but to be honest I’ve no idea what a ‘convertible fanny’ is.

I’ve not said fanny this much since I was about 13.

The Honda Jazz on the other hand couldn’t repel fanny any quicker if it tried. It’s as atheistically pleasing as a skip, only smaller and with less engine power.

No contest, the Merc every time right?

Well, yes and no. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to look unfavourably on a car just because it’s a tad out of my price bracket – between £35,000 and £55,000 for the Merc depending on what buttons, whistles and bells you want thrown at it – but while it may be of enormously high quality and display technical excellence, I wouldn’t know nuffink about any of that, and it’s certainly not perfect in my book.

For a start, the driving seat is so low it actually feels like your arse is under the road. This can make for some sporty fun as it feels faster than it goes (and it goes fast), but bear in mind that I do most of my work in the small hours on empty roads. This thing would be a positive nightmare in rush hour traffic. All the windows are really narrow and in the model I drove, they were tinted too. This meant that not only did I feel like a massive pimp, I couldn’t really tell how close anything was behind me before I pulled out to overtake. I just didn’t feel safe in it.

The Honda Jazz by contrast may as well have no windows at all. In fact, there were times last night in the wind and rain that it felt like it didn’t. The whole thing started shaking if I went passed 70mph, but I don’t really mind if a car does that. It reminds me that I’m travelling too fast, and prompts me to slow down. That’s not a bad thing.

I was surprised to discover that the Merc does on average about 47 miles to the gallon, which I'm reliably informed (by the interweb) isn’t half bad for a car of its size. However the Jazz is obviously better in this department. In fact, I’m lead to believe that the new Honda Jazz Hybrid runs at about 70 miles per gallon on a combination of tea-tree oil and sheer willpower.

The new Honda Jazz also boasts a feature whereby “the rear seats lift up, fold over and lock down in one easy movement”, which they describe as “design flexibility at its simplest. We call them Magic Seats.” http://www.honda.co.uk/cars/jazz/magicseats/

My Fiesta’s rear seats do pretty much the same thing, but I just call them ‘seats’.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang has magic seats. A Honda Jazz does not.

So which car did I actually enjoy driving the most?

Well, the Merc was a fun, fast, flashy fanny magnet. That is to say it’s a flashy car that attracts fanny, not a car that attracts a flashy…… never mind.

However, the Honda Jazz was the car that took me the 95 miles home to my wife, my kids and my bed, and at 2am in the pissing rain, that’s exactly where I wanted to be. I enjoyed that journey, and by proxy, that car the most.

Fanny!

Facebook: www.facebook.com/Ihavewrites

Twitter: @Ihavewrites

Ford Fiesta LX (1996)

They say that inside every adult is still a child wanting to get out. This is especially true of me, and it just so happens that the child inside me is the illegitimate offspring of Ray Mears and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall. Give this inner child free reign, and I would be skinning rabbits, making dens and brewing my own beer out of stinging nettles and grass before you could say “Who are you? What are you doing in my garden? IS THAT MY RABBIT?!?”

Luckily I live with someone who has a mutual love of all things ‘outdoors’ (maybe not all things – we’re still working on wasps), but it’s hardly surprising that we have quite a lot of conversations about what kind of car we’d ideally need to accommodate us and all the camping gear we’ve accumulated over the years.

So, last year myself, my good lady wife and our daughter Ebony were having an ever-so-grown-up discussion over breakfast about which ‘family car’ we might look into getting at some point in the future.

The conversation went along these lines:

“I like the Citroen Picasso”

“Yeah, me too…. Looks like its got loads of room. What do you think Ebs?”

Now I know that children are the adults of tomorrow. However, there are still a few good reasons why they should be excluded from certain avenues of discourse before they’re absolutely ready.

A look of deep thought flashed across her face before she shouted excitedly:

“We should get a Limousine. NO…. WAIT…. CAN WE GET AN ICE CREAM VAN?”

I wouldn’t actually be opposed to driving a Limo. Say what you like about the trio of Smirnoff Ice swigging lady torsos that seem to be permanently attached to the roof of every Limo in every town across the UK on a Saturday night. Nobody thinks the driver is a twat.

An ice cream van on the other hand would be an absolute nightmare. Sure, it’d be pretty roomy and you’d have ice cream literally on tap, but you wouldn’t be able to stop anywhere for more than 30 seconds without attracting a swarm of awful little bastards hassling you for a 99 with six flakes and a cider lolly for dad.

She just wasn’t thinking it through, so I sent her to her room.

We have these conversations more regularly since I started working for Chauffeur Monkey (never a dull moment round our gaff) and although I have now driven most of them, I still don’t really know what family car we should go for.

“But the Ford Fiesta LX 1996 isn’t a family car” I hear no one shout.

Correct. However, it’s the car I currently own and the one I regularly stuff – there’s no other word for it – my family into for various trips and outings in and around East Sussex. It’s not a big car. In fact, it’s kind of like the anti-TARDIS what with it being smaller on the inside that it would outwardly appear.

It’s due for its MOT soon and I’m dreading it. I’ve done nothing to maintain it since I bought it for £500 last year. No, that’s a lie. I topped up the windscreen washer fluid about 3 months ago. Not that this makes a blind bit of difference as the windscreen wipers are so old that they’ve grown thin strips of vegetation along their length. I think that every time I use the jet I’m actually just watering the wiper-garden.

There’s no power steering. I guess I shouldn’t complain about this, as performing 3 point turns may well be the only effective exercise I currently do, but it’s just not right in this day and age. I mean it’s got a tape deck for fuck’s sake (although this has meant that I’ve been able to continue listening to a tape of me doing an old school rave DJ set on a local pirate radio station in 2001. With the exception of my children, it’s one of the best things I’ve ever made).

Despite all of its shortcomings, I’ve not had a problem with it in the year that I’ve had it. Considering it’s nearly 17 years old, the engine always starts and it gets me from A to B. It would justifiably wear the classified ad slogan “Ideal first car”.

I think when it finally dies I’ll miss it in the same way that Ebony missed her late Hamster Martha:

“Ebony, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news…. Martha died last night”

“……..*sniff*……..”

“I know its sad darling, but she died in her sleep so it was quite peaceful”

“……..*nods*………. Can we get a Gecko?”

Facebook: www.facebook.com/Ihavewrites

Twitter: @Ihavewrites

Range Rover Vogue SE TDV8

When I first started at Chauffeur Monkey I genuinely hoped for 2 things:

• I hoped that I never have to drive a left-hand-drive car, as I’m convinced I would instantly crash it; and

• I hoped I wouldn’t drive too many big tank-like 4x4’s

I can happily report that the former hope is still intact – I’ve yet to drive a leftie - however the latter hope has well and truly been dashed against the rocks.

I don’t like 4x4’s!

To kick off the first of many anti-Clarkson type rants I expect I’ll have, I think climate change is a very real thing and I’m all up for people and companies taking personal responsibility for it. The Range Rover Vogue TDV8, like most 4x4’s does about 25-30 miles to the gallon at best. A quick Google search reliably informs me that the average UK car miles per gallon is about 37.

To me, this can mean one of three things. The average 4x4 owner:

1. Knows the effects that driving their car has on the environment, but doesn’t care
2. Doesn’t believe in the effects of Climate Change, so doesn’t care
3. Actually needs a 4x4

Seeing as the average 4x4 driver is not, in fact, an arable farmer, I wish to have option 3 stricken from the record m’lud.

That said, I have now driven more 4x4’s than anyone I know. I’d like to tell you that I offset this affront to all the morals I hold dear by planting a tree, or adopting an orphan, or something equally ethically worthwhile every time I drive one.

I’d like to, but I can’t.

I can’t, because the truth is…….. hold on….. the truth is……wait……I can’t quite seem to swallow this bile…. the truth is….. I.. quite… like…. driving them.

(With the exception of yours Ange, sorry but it’s horrible. Clutches should not have to be depressed with both feet – No wonder your knee is buggered).

I like driving them first and foremost because I feel safe in one. The Range Rover especially is, as previously ranted about, a tank. And tanks are safe.

Another quick Google lets me know that an actual tank will set you back about £30,000,000 so the Vogue TDV8 is a snip at about £80,000 for a second hand one.

I wouldn’t try and invade Afganistan in one though.

Secondly, every one I’ve ever driven is ridiculously comfortable. It’s like driving a sofa. This might not actually be such a good thing as I can imagine that there is a real danger of falling asleep at the wheel on long journeys.

The dashboard is unnecessarily digital. That is all I have to say about the dashboard.

It’s got all the bits & bobs & whatnots that you’d expect from an 80 grand car including:

Automatic lights (and auto full beam lights as well – that freaked me out), automatic windscreen wipers, rear view camera, in-built SatNav, in car hands-free phone connection, heated seats, rear DVD player and a device which performs felacio on you as you drive (well, it might as well have).

With all that in mind, I think the question you really need to ask yourself is:

If I had £80,000 would I spunk it on a Range Rover, or would I go on holiday…… forever!

Facebook: www.facebook.com/Ihavewrites

Twitter: @Ihavewrites

Who am I? Why should you care?

I’m a nobody. A statistic. A blip on the radar of existence. I’ve wandered aimlessly through life’s more labyrinthine corridors searching for ‘That Certain Something’ that would send my life into vertical takeoff.

Perhaps ‘searching for’ is too strong a phrase….. ‘prodding around lazily for’ might better suit my general level of apathy.

In other words, I’m probably you! (that is if you happen to be a married 32 year old father of two called Jake from Brighton. If not then I’m probably a bit like you.)

I hope you haven’t formed the impression that I’m a miserable sod. Far from it… I’m just a realist.

For a start, despite the clichés pertaining to ‘the old ball and chain’, and the perceived perpetual life ruining properties that children seem to posses, I’m very happily married and I love my kids. I just don’t do anything!

I have friends who do things.

Take my mate Luke for example; Speaks 2 foreign languages fluently and will forever speak English better than me.

He lived for a few years in Japan (one of his fluent languages…. I know, what a twat). His work and hobbies there included: Teaching kids English, jogging in the mountains, snowboarding, karaoke (a dubious pastime but he assures me it’s a hoot), making new friends, you know, doing something.

Then there’s my friend Johnny; Works in Africa as some sort of charity coordinator. He comes home every now and again and it’s always a real pleasure to see him, but I can never feel totally at ease in his company. The man exudes too much job satisfaction for my neuroses to deal with. If a man’s wealth could be measured by the amount of lives he has touched then Johnny would be one of the richest people I know. He does something!

I don’t do anything!

Well, that’s not strictly speaking true……. There is this one thing……..

Bit of background; about a year ago my wife and I discovered that she was ‘with child’ again. After a 9 year gap between then and our first child in 2002, we were slightly more relaxed and at ease with the situation, and positively warmed to the idea of the pitter-patter of tiny feet.

By contrast back in 2001, when we first discovered we were going to be parents, we were both only just out of our teens and I think it’s fair to say that I spent the first 3 or so years of fatherhood joining my daughter in the act of continually shitting myself. That’s why I was so thin! (to those who knew me then and are witness to the sack full of kebabs, pies and gravy that I have become).

Anyway, here we were again in 2011 facing ‘Mt Parenthood’, but this time we had all the right equipment, and weren’t attempting to climb it in shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops.

Now children don’t come cheap (this is not actually true, they don't cost that much to acquire - some can be purchased for as little as 5 WKD Blues. However, it’s the maintenance that can be on the pricey side).

In order for my wife to take a full year’s worth of maternity leave, muggins here had to look into getting a second job to pay for it……. But what a job I found.

By day, I’m a Pointless Desk-Based Pleb (official title) for the public sector. By night (and weekends), I’m a ‘Chauffeur Monkey’

www.chauffeurmonkey.co.uk

Here’s how it works – You’re out and about anywhere in East Sussex and you drive to your favourite country pub/restaurant/golf club/brothel/etc in your own car. You then get as smashed as you like, call Chauffeur Monkey and I turn up on a modified Honda Z50 Monkey Bike.

The bike breaks apart, folds up and goes in bags, which I then throw in your boot, and drive you home in your own car.

It’s the best job I’ve ever had!!

Since starting last year, I’ve now driven quite literally hundreds of different cars. But here’s the thing….. I still don’t know anything about them!

That’s not to say I can’t recognise different cars apart from each other. I know the shit out of that now, much to the continued and ever increasing annoyance of my wife.

“That’s a Skoda Octavia…. I’ve driven one of them”

“That’s a Toyota Corolla….. I’ve driven one of them”

“That’s a BMW 5 series….. I’ve driv-“ “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!”

“Yes dear”

No, it’s just that I don’t know anything that one probably should know if they did the sort of job that I do. What’s ‘torque’? No idea!, What’s the meaning of having a bigger litre engine? Buggered if I know!, ‘traction control’? Don’t know, but I know that if you turn it off the car instantly becomes much more dangerous to drive….. why did someone invent that?

So now I reach the point of this blog…

Last week I was enjoying a rare outing to the pub and I fell into the now familiar conversation with a friend.

“So Jake, what’s the nicest car you’ve ever driven”

“Jaguar XFR100” I said without hesitation, expecting the quiet awe that the answer usually provokes…….mainly because no one has heard of the XFR100, but I said ‘Jaguar’ so it must be a top notch motor.

But instead my friend said something I wasn’t expecting at all – “Why?”

I was stumped. It’s certainly the quickest car that I’ve ever driven, but does that make it the nicest? Probably not!

So what does make a car nice to drive? Speed? Comfort? How many cup holders it has? What celebrity voice the Sat-Nav directs you with? I have no idea!

“You should write a blog” another friend says, “You could be like the Anti-Clarkson”.

I instantly fell in love with the idea…. A blog of car reviews written by someone who knows bugger all about cars. I’d read it!

So here goes…. From now on I’m going to be taking notes on all the cars I drive for Chauffeur Monkey and letting you, my faithful reader, know what’s hot and what’s not in the world of motoring-without-a-clue.

Welcome to Bottom Gear!

Facebook: www.facebook.com/Ihavewrites
Twitter: @Ihavewrites