Driving the Fail Whale

Driving the Fail Whale

I've had my Nissan Micra - affectionately known as the Fail Whale - for a couple of weeks now, and - Cthulhu save me - I'm actually beginning to like the thing.

While it has sphincter-tightening argh-slow-down-we're-all-going-to-die acceleration in low gears, I'm rather let down by the fact that it has the turning circle of the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

Praise and quibbles aside, there is one thing I have learned since I have started driving a Nissan Micra, and it is this:

I'm driving a Nissan Micra.

You realise this when you approach a road junction, and see that 'Oh-fuck-here-comes-a-Nissan-Micra' look on the face of the driver, who then nips his car out in front of you like a complete bastard.

That's when the sphincter-tightening argh-slow-down-we're-all-going-to-die acceleration comes in handy, just to let Mr Oh-fuck-here-comes-a-Nissan-Micra know that I'm not a little old lady.

This has happened to me six or seven times. Every journey.

I know that Oh-fuck-here-comes-a-Nissan-Micra look, because I used to do it when I drove the poor, dead Silver Hornet.

Other drivers: You're all bastards.