Car Anger

Car Anger

Angry.

And the reason for my anger is this: A man driving a Mini.

A man, complete with Rupert the Bear scarf, designer glasses and hipster haircut driving a mini over Caversham Bridge in the morning rush hour.

My blood boiled.

"Sir!" I shouted, "You are a man in a woman's car! Get yourself the second-cheapest BMW, you utter disgrace to humanity."

This outburst, I will be the first to admit, lost a certain amount of authority coming as it did from a short, fat bloke driving a blue Nissan Micra. Yet my point stands.

The new Mini is nothing but a car for girls. A car for successful girls aged between 25 and 40, solely for driving between their designated parking space in a modern flats developemnt to a designated parking space somewhere in an out-of-town office park.

The kind of successful young lady with a wardrobe of designer clothes, a somewhat smaller wardrobe of flimsy designer lingerie and an impressive collection of clockwork cucumbers in the second drawer down of her bedside cabinet, next to the secret diary abandoned three days after watching the first Bridget Jones movie.

Yes. Quite.

So, let's get this right:

- Successful young ladies: Mini
- Successful young men: BMW
- Short, round blog authors: Blue ex-film prop Nissan Micra, with twin turbo 6.0 litre engine, phased plasma rifles, time-travel enabled
- Old People: Proton, or aging Rover 75
- White van man: White van
- Everybody else: Ford Focus

Got it? Let us put an end to this nonsense for once and for all.