We buy cars for all sorts of reasons, but I’ve never before come across a case where the main driving force was a love of cheesecake.
I have always been a sucker for creamy cheesecake with red topping. Irresistible is the best word for it, I think.
I’m convinced that is why I have just bought a red car with creamy leather seats; it looked like my favourite cheesecake and I fell in love with it.
The car maker’s official description is “oyster”, but it will always be cream to me.
They warn about online romances, don’t they? And I fell hook, line and sinker as soon as my gaze came to rest on its beautiful visage.
It was the first car which popped up when I went onto a dealer’s website. It was fate, we were meant to be together.
The cheesecake factor
I was alarmed when I overheard my wife saying the old banger had to go, but when I realised she didn’t mean me, we found ourselves in a car dealership the next day.
This petite red and cream beauty made eyes at us through the window; our fate was sealed as soon as we stepped inside the showroom. I didn’t check out much else about it due to the cheesecake factor.
Yes, they say the world is coming to an end, but at least I can drive towards the abyss in style
It’s not really a midlife crisis because I passed through that phase, but I have not done anything so rakish since buying straight-leg pyjama bottoms.
I tried to explore the hybrid and electric car market, but became so confused and drained of energy by this bright new future that I blanked it out.
I motored down the combustion engine route again. Yes, they say the world is coming to an end, but at least I can drive towards the abyss in style.
Actually, I’ve now decided to wait two or three years before dipping my toe in the electric market again, when it’s hopefully more reassuring and less of a rip off.
A newfound fear of going on holiday
This was not the only travel challenge of these historic times which has hampered my online search for enlightenment.
I am hurtling towards something else which is frightening me: a holiday booking to Lanzarote in a few weeks. Twice cancelled and rolled over at the height of the pandemic, it now looks like it might happen.
So, as well as admiring my vision of red and cream loveliness, I have been staring uncomfortably at travel requirements of not one but four government websites.
It’s our fault for flying from Scotland to Lanzarote via Holland. I have been juggling UK, Scotland, Netherlands and Spain travel rules.
By our count, my wife and I require eight official forms and four Covid tests to get there and back.
We are skipping between two amber countries and an awful dodgy place regarded by the rest of the world as “very high Covid risk” (that’s us).
I think medical scientists would like to keep us under lock and key forever, but we have to face the world at some point soon. And I reckon a holiday jet or airport is safer than a football stadium crammed with the great unwashed in their maskless thousands, spraying spittle everywhere.
Oh, to be ‘Flying Blur’ without a care again
My nightmare is being caught out by border guards in one of those grim “show us your papers” scenarios. It’s not a holiday, but more like war film, The Great Escape.
I love my red beauty, but dread amber fading to red while we are away.
How different from 18 months ago, when we flew back from Thailand a few steps ahead of the pursuing pandemic cloud.
I had been a bit grumpy at the end of our outward journey because I felt messed about by various staff as we tried in vain to upgrade our seats at Charles de Gaulle airport; I think pushed from pillar to post is the phrase.
We were ‘Flying Blue’ members, as the airline designates passengers who turn air miles into perks. But, as hospitality flowed, it felt more like ‘Flying Blur’
I poured out my grievances to our sympathetic onboard purser as we descended into Singapore, en route to Thailand. He promised to investigate. I thought I would never hear from him again.
Before travelling home, two weeks later, we were stunned by an Air France email inviting us to upgrade our Bangkok to Paris return leg the next morning at a very generous price.
We wallowed in the lap of luxury for 12 glorious hours. It had to be down to the purser because it was too much of a coincidence.
We were “Flying Blue” members, as the airline designates passengers who turn air miles into perks. But, as hospitality flowed, it felt more like “Flying Blur”.
David Knight is the long-serving former deputy editor of The Press and Journal