Cupcakes, Clio's and Carborators!

It's just like when someone starts talking about the offside rule, or tries to explain to me how exactly to play poker.  I can't help it, I try my utmost best and my mind STILL goes numb. There's just no way my female mind wants to torture itself with this new and horrendously boring information.

Not that I don't want to know about cars - I do, in fact I hate when I know nothing about something and I'm quite proud when someone asks me the size of my engine and I can answer straight away. Same with my number plate and the fact that she takes petrol. But that's pretty much where my knowledge of cars stops. It's why I have brothers, and the occasional man in my life!

But poor Clio-patra. I've been neglecting my little Renault lately and one day I come home to find her tax is due and her insurance is calling for a renewal. To make matters worse, I haven't given her a bath all winter. On double-checking her due dates I then realise her NCT was up too. 

After sighing away any hope of being able to buy those pretty cream and pink heels from River Island, I try and calculate (using my phone - not my head) just how much her doctors bills are going to cost me. She has been really good to me this last year, taking me across the country a few times, dodging a few crazy drivers on her way and didn't faint on the M50 once so it was the least I could do.

With my dad and my brothers being away, I decided there was no better time to try and play mechanic on my own. After sorting out her finances (wasn't so difficult actually) and booking her NCT, I decked myself out in old jeans and pink washing up gloves - you would have too if you had to use that sponge - and scrubbed the car clean. I then checked the oil and water, both seemed fine and I'm pretty sure I checked the right tanks. From what attention I did pay in the past, I remembered something about a measurement mark and something about a dipstick...

 

The day before the NCT I took Clio shopping for new wiper blades and lights. I must have looked very confused standing in front of so many wipers as it wasn't long before I was handed a set from a helpful little sales boy. 'Surely they all do the same thing?' 'No', I was told, 'different sizes different makes, different years'. Money making racket more like it.

Then the big day arrived and with all the men in my life still away, I managed to persuade one of my good male friends to assist me for the day. What they'll do for a cup of tea and a cupcake! But even with all my good intentions, my clean(ish) car, my fancy new wiper blades and the fact that I had to listen to my chum telling me my car was being violated for half an hour, she still managed to fail. Something to do with her exaust, her underbody and her steering (I think!). Which means I will still have to endure a real trip to an actual mechanics - probably be my lonesome... and that will be another story!