The problem with The Black Golf Of Worthless Warranty is that it is just too easy to go fast in it. My previous modes of transport have been defined mainly by their age and the embarrassment caused to passengers (and I'm not talking about the British rail network.) Great swathes of friends simply refused to have anything to do with my succession of ancient Volvo 340s. My insistance that the fact that because they were the cheap 2-door versions and had rear wheel drive, they were actually the equivalent of a sports coupe seldom won anyone around.
So having a car that will cruise effortlessly at 3 figure speeds is a little odd.
Take the weekend. The speed just crept up until I was hurtling down deserted motorways at 130mph. At that point something odd happened to the car. The German computer under the bonnet decided that it must be back on the German Autobahns of its halcyon youth. The stereo began playing Wagner. The CDs in the auto-changer turned into a succession of David Hasselhof Greatest Hits albums. I'm sure someone was shouting "Ve vill crush ze ozzer traffik viz our fearsome German efficiency!" from the back seat.
I had to pull into a service station and be over-charged for some decidedly average food and buy extortionately priced petrol to convince the car that we really were in England.
