What do you think?
Helping a friend choose a new car is a bit like commenting on her latest suitor. If all goes well and they get on famously, then you too are flavour of the month and your friend is indebted with gratitude. If you express disappointment and yet she still goes ahead and buys the car, but the thing turns out to be a complete jalopy then you also remain flavour of the month and your friend promises to listen to you in future as of course, you were completely right all along. However if you express dismay at her choice and infer all the wheels will fall off and her warranty is fit only for lining the cat litter box and the car transpires to be the most reliable versatile mode of transport your friend has ever owned. Then you’re in trouble.
I often try to avoid helping a friend choose a car for this very reason, but it's difficult to say no, "it’s good practice for when someone wants to pay you for your opinion" they argue, so inevitably my good nature and curiosity prevail and it’s off to the showroom.
The job of providing a friend with a sounding board for a new car purchase is made considerably easier if said mate is a bit of a petrolhead. By far one of the best decisions I ever made was to persuade a procrastinating Technology Manager friend to buy an Alfa 147. He agonised over it for more than three weeks, taking numerous trips to the showroom, taking digital photos from every conceivable angle, reading every single roadtest he could find. All the while I kept the pressure on "you know you want it". He succumbed and they’ve been together for two very happy years. He was, of course always going to buy it, he only really needed ‘approval’. I even think it might have improved his image with the ladies.
Some friends can enjoy cars but don’t really see them as essential. One of my friends is a very successful finance manager, she’s been driving a 1993 Nissan Micra slowly for 5 years and she’s only just flirting with the idea of a new car. She’s looking at a Toyota Prius for the environmental benefits or a Mazda 6 because she likes the look of it as she doesn’t like German or French cars she wouldn’t even entertain going to see any. Her husband on the other hand has three cars, one of which is a Ferrari. Takes all sorts.
The task of helping a friend buy a new car can be substantially more difficult if your friend really doesn’t care what the car looks like or how it performs, they don’t even care what manufacturer, country of origin or colour. This is like trying to power London with a bicycle and a dynamo.
My mate Nat is a doctor, she is American, and one of my oldest friends, we’ve shared exam results, stories of first kisses and she was there to provide chocolate, tea and probably something like Tia Maria when I had my first heartbreak. I can go months without seeing her and yet we are so familiar with one another’s company we will still pick up the same conversation as if it were yesterday. Despite all this history, when Nat called me to say she wanted to buy a car as she was moving jobs from London to Manchester, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and the colour drain from my face.
My memory drifted and I remembered when Nat called me one winter’s night several years’ back to help her find Great Fosters Hotel in Surrey to sample the restaurant. She was driving an ancient white and rust Ford Fiesta, which had the Stars and Stripes fluttering from one of the air vents. It was also the first time I’d ever been a passenger in the car with Nat - it was also the last. The darkened Surrey lanes became akin to driving the Nurburgring blindfold when Nat was at the wheel. Unfortunately she wasn’t the greatest driver but did get 10/10 for effort and enthused in-car commentary. Following that I heard tales of Nat trying to change station on a shower radio she had placed on the passenger seat whilst smoking a Marlboro Light driving in a contraflow in the snow; because her radio in the Fiesta had given up hope. I am sure she has improved since then. No I’m certain she has.
I knew Nat wanted a small, economical car that wasn’t too fussy, so began to do my homework. I presented a shortlist of candidates, the Toyota Yaris, Fiat Panda, Renault Clio, Honda Jazz (it came in pink). Nat had other ideas and went off with another friend of hers, stopping at the first dealership they saw that had small city cars. I was beginning to fall even at the first hurdle. I pleaded with her that the car she was looking at was whiney and had poor road handling and would take 800 years to get to 60mph, but she retorted it had free insurance, a warranty and easy finance, it was an uphill struggle.
We decided to battle it out the only way we knew how, an age old tried and tested method, I made Italian food, and Nat brought the wine. Several glasses of white burgundy later the criteria had been defined. Cheap to run, small enough for city use but decent enough for the occasional motorway jaunt, free insurance, easy finance, decent warranty and the option to give it back after 3 years. Simple enough. By the third bottle of wine, the discussion had changed. Did Nat really need a car? She worked long hours, her new job was within walking distance and near very good tram links in Manchester, if she was visiting friends she’d take the train so she could travel with a hangover or write notes without worrying about fellow travellers. She was also a cheap taxi ride or train journey away from Manchester airport for when she travelled home. We finished the wine, switched to whisky and made our conclusion.
Nat didn’t really need a car and we’re still friends.
I often try to avoid helping a friend choose a car for this very reason, but it's difficult to say no, "it’s good practice for when someone wants to pay you for your opinion" they argue, so inevitably my good nature and curiosity prevail and it’s off to the showroom.
The job of providing a friend with a sounding board for a new car purchase is made considerably easier if said mate is a bit of a petrolhead. By far one of the best decisions I ever made was to persuade a procrastinating Technology Manager friend to buy an Alfa 147. He agonised over it for more than three weeks, taking numerous trips to the showroom, taking digital photos from every conceivable angle, reading every single roadtest he could find. All the while I kept the pressure on "you know you want it". He succumbed and they’ve been together for two very happy years. He was, of course always going to buy it, he only really needed ‘approval’. I even think it might have improved his image with the ladies.
Some friends can enjoy cars but don’t really see them as essential. One of my friends is a very successful finance manager, she’s been driving a 1993 Nissan Micra slowly for 5 years and she’s only just flirting with the idea of a new car. She’s looking at a Toyota Prius for the environmental benefits or a Mazda 6 because she likes the look of it as she doesn’t like German or French cars she wouldn’t even entertain going to see any. Her husband on the other hand has three cars, one of which is a Ferrari. Takes all sorts.
The task of helping a friend buy a new car can be substantially more difficult if your friend really doesn’t care what the car looks like or how it performs, they don’t even care what manufacturer, country of origin or colour. This is like trying to power London with a bicycle and a dynamo.
My mate Nat is a doctor, she is American, and one of my oldest friends, we’ve shared exam results, stories of first kisses and she was there to provide chocolate, tea and probably something like Tia Maria when I had my first heartbreak. I can go months without seeing her and yet we are so familiar with one another’s company we will still pick up the same conversation as if it were yesterday. Despite all this history, when Nat called me to say she wanted to buy a car as she was moving jobs from London to Manchester, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and the colour drain from my face.
My memory drifted and I remembered when Nat called me one winter’s night several years’ back to help her find Great Fosters Hotel in Surrey to sample the restaurant. She was driving an ancient white and rust Ford Fiesta, which had the Stars and Stripes fluttering from one of the air vents. It was also the first time I’d ever been a passenger in the car with Nat - it was also the last. The darkened Surrey lanes became akin to driving the Nurburgring blindfold when Nat was at the wheel. Unfortunately she wasn’t the greatest driver but did get 10/10 for effort and enthused in-car commentary. Following that I heard tales of Nat trying to change station on a shower radio she had placed on the passenger seat whilst smoking a Marlboro Light driving in a contraflow in the snow; because her radio in the Fiesta had given up hope. I am sure she has improved since then. No I’m certain she has.
I knew Nat wanted a small, economical car that wasn’t too fussy, so began to do my homework. I presented a shortlist of candidates, the Toyota Yaris, Fiat Panda, Renault Clio, Honda Jazz (it came in pink). Nat had other ideas and went off with another friend of hers, stopping at the first dealership they saw that had small city cars. I was beginning to fall even at the first hurdle. I pleaded with her that the car she was looking at was whiney and had poor road handling and would take 800 years to get to 60mph, but she retorted it had free insurance, a warranty and easy finance, it was an uphill struggle.
We decided to battle it out the only way we knew how, an age old tried and tested method, I made Italian food, and Nat brought the wine. Several glasses of white burgundy later the criteria had been defined. Cheap to run, small enough for city use but decent enough for the occasional motorway jaunt, free insurance, easy finance, decent warranty and the option to give it back after 3 years. Simple enough. By the third bottle of wine, the discussion had changed. Did Nat really need a car? She worked long hours, her new job was within walking distance and near very good tram links in Manchester, if she was visiting friends she’d take the train so she could travel with a hangover or write notes without worrying about fellow travellers. She was also a cheap taxi ride or train journey away from Manchester airport for when she travelled home. We finished the wine, switched to whisky and made our conclusion.
Nat didn’t really need a car and we’re still friends.
posted by Manda @ 10:31 pm
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