What’s in a name?

Naming your car seems to be associated with girls rather than boys but I have to admit that, with all the new models on the road today seemingly designed by the same computer program, they all seem to merge into one.

It sort of makes me hanker for the old days when I had to get underneath my mk 3 Cortina and bang the starter motor with a ball pain hammer every morning just to get it started. I used to call that beautiful blue, rusty winged beauty queen Sadie, don’t ask me why. Well it was probably because, being a spotty 17 year old, that was the nearest I would come to anything remotely female for a few years. All said and done it was mainly just the fact that, as a new driver with a car that was totally mine, I could do what I wanted (obviously within reason). The car could take me wherever I wanted to go (of course that was really only as far a 5 quid a week petrol would take me but you get my drift).

The freedom she gave me insisted I named her and would never forget her.

In those days of course cars could be worked on yourself, it was not like working on the space lab and you didn’t need a laptop computer (which was just as well as they hadn’t been invented). No you could do your plugs and points and change your oil and get your dad involved for the bigger jobs and you could spend time together before having a wash up and driving the old man down the pub for a couple of pre dinner pints to say thanks.

Happy, halcyon days.

I named all my cars from Mindy the Marina Coupe, solid purple and 0-60 when she felt like it, Mandy the little Mini 850 with the steering wheel as big as a bus who used to attract all the wrong kind of attention being she was bedecked in a bright orange paint job. Then there was Charmain the black Capri 1.6 who was sex on 4 wheels and then of course the ugly sister, the Citroen BX which used to go up and down when I stopped and was just known as Jenny Dicks.

Perhaps it was because owning a car back then was so special that it doesn’t quite work today naming your car but I do see the tradition of loving your wheels continuing with this generation who seem far more interested in big wheels and noisy exhausts and being seen up and down the high street in their Peugeot 106 or Citroen Saxo than maybe the cars themselves.

I have to confess that when I acquired Bianca my beautiful 3 series BMW I filled the boot with a base tube and nearly knocked myself out banging out the rat pack and Mickey Finn so loud that my teeth vibrated.

Ah yes the good old days when cars were like girls; treat them right and they gave you the ride of your dreams but treat ‘em badly and they would stay in the garage and you couldn’t go near them!