What stresses you out the most?

A few weeks ago I bought a second-hand car. The make and model is immaterial, it's a rag-top, it's silver, it has an engine with six things that go bang and four wheels that make it move along the road, and apparently owning this particular brand of automobile makes me "a bit of a knob" from the perspective of other road users even though my driving style and road-manners haven't changed one iota since I took ownership - I had my eyes open when I bought it so this comes as no surprise, I freely admit that I was wary of buying said motorcar because of the negative connotation it has with other road users, and even when driving it off the forecourt on a test drive I had convinced myself that I hated it, yet within a few minutes driving I had turned that conviction on its head and handed over my hard-earned money without too much further thought of what other drivers would think of me...

My previous car was equipped with all the modern computer-controlled gizmos and automatic driving aids and I presumed that I'd be familiar enough with this one, so having learnt which buttons made the roof go up and down, and which ones moved the seat back and forward, I threw the driver's manual into the glove box and drove the car away, as pleased as punch with my new purchase.

Anyway, on Sunday we drove to Buckinghamshire (just north of Oxford) to visit a country house that was hosting a chilli festival, and much fun we had there sampling the chilli sauces with saucy names, like Bumburner and the like. After that we had a pleasant afternoon tea in the country house in the presence of my daughter and her new husband, and my sister-in-law and her old husband. All told it was a nice day-out.

During the 100 mile journey home darkness fell and at one point the glare from headlights of the oncoming traffic was starting to give me a headache so I asked my wife to pass me my the orange-tinted night-driving glasses that I occasionally wear to alleviate the adverse effect of modern dichroic lights just as we got caught up in a slow line of traffic on a narrow winding country road. Knowing that there was a hill approaching with a very short stretch of dual carriageway to allow people to pass lorries and other snail-like vehicles, I prepared to pull-out and gun my way past them. Needless to say the car behind had the same idea and he tagged on behind me as we ripped our way to the front of the queue at break-neck speed, however, he was driving closer to my arse than would have I liked so as soon as I got clear road ahead of me I pulled over to let him pass... alas the dual carriageway ended before he had chance to get by and he had to tuck in behind me. Knowing that I could probably negotiate the next stretch of road at speed without pissing him off too much I settled in to driving with him in tow. 

I looked down at the ASC button on the centre console and swore again. It had been pressed, no doubt by my wife as she tried to open the sunglasses storage tray just above it. I pressed it and the light on the dash went out. I swore for the final time, cogged it down a gear and buried the accelerator into the plush German carpet, leaving the car behind in my dust. Nothing releases stress in me more than driving like a bandit in a car that corners like it is running on rails.

 

Yeah, VWs have so many warning lights it's impossible to learn them all, so you find yourself sailing down the road while something mysterious flashes at you, and there's no way of telling whether your engine is about to explode or the back seat needs adjusting.  Germanic thoroughness does tend to induce unnecessary panic. 

I had a '72 Bug once. The heat only worked in the summer.

I recall vividly driving to school in midwinter Michigan with an ankle-length wool navy P-coat, a horse blanket and in one hand an ice scraper for the inside of the windshield. In retrospect, I am amazed at my patience. Or at least, the patience I once had....BEFORE THAT F*CKING VW BURNT IT OUT OF ME!