BrrmBrrrmScreeech!
Man, I hate driving. Partly because I'm not very good at it, and partly because I find it exceptionally stressful. Admittedly both of those things reinforce one another. Also: I know bugger all about cars, lacking as I do many of the manly genes that promote skill at DIY, interest in football, and a love of the automobile.
Why, then, did I go and buy one the other week?
Well, obviously when Wiggles comes, he (and he is a he, we discovered last week) is likely to have little short stumpy legs and will lack the skills necessary to use them for locomotion. In order for the little fella to get from A to B he's gonna need some wheels, and while we do have a pram on order, they are somewhat limited in range and speed.
So, I picked up a cheap third-hand Renault Laguna from a bloke that lives nearby. And, y'know, it's fine. I think. It's a wee bit noisy so I'm going to have someone take a look at that. But it goes and has lots of room in the back for a child and associated accessories.
And I am quite excited about being able to get out of town at the weekends. Though I am not remotely excited about trying to navigate around the city with only a vague set of instructions from Google Maps to point me in the right direction, given that someone seems to have gone before me and removed all the street signs. To compensate, and for the sake of my blood pressure, I have ordered one of those magic boxes with the lady inside who tells you where to go, leaving me free to concentrate on not crashing.
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