I've got a new car. She's white and her name is Binky. I've never named a car before. I've only ever seen them as big, black, shiny things to chuck stuff into, along with myself, and drive fast, top down (the car's that is) to wherever the mood takes me. And the wine shop.

This car is different. For a start she's white. Secondly, she's small and not European. Quelle horreur! I didn't want her but decided to sell my other car and bank some much-needed, left-over dollars to help keep the local wine shop in business. I'm brimming with community spirit.

I named the new car Binky after a deaf, white cat I had when I was seven years old. Dad finally capitulated on his "no more cats" stance after weeks of me refusing to speak to him, and brought her home as a tiny kitten in his jacket pocket. We adored each other instantly. Unlike the car and I. Hopefully Binky 2 is as deaf as her namesake was because I feel bad now about the less than kind comparisons I made made between cat and car to the salesman. Poor man's probably going to turn his sales badge in after having to smile and feign interest in my childhood stories.

After three days of zipping around in Binky, I have become very protective of her and even though she may be slower up hills and not have the pizazz of my last few cars, she is sweet and fits in a park the size of a napkin. 

So even though I'm unused to having "ordinary" in my motoring life, perhaps a bit of it will be a good thing. My accountant can now drop his permanently raised eyebrow as he flips through my speeding tickets. An old friend suggested painting Binky's pristine white doors with bright yellow daisies. A hippie Binky. I'm quite taken with the idea but think I'll just leave her be her cute self and merge into mediocrity along with all the other Binky's on the road. At least she won't get cat flu and die when I spray her with the hose.