A Man and His Even Manlier Motor

One of life's many proverbial stepping stones is the first car. That lump of metal and four rubber tyres opens up a whole new world of wonder and mischief and sets you on your way towards adulthood and independence...

...sorry did I just say that? What I meant to say is it's a really cool thing to show off to your mates.

Now I've had a lot of stick about my car. Like my surname, the car in question happens to rhyme with 'gay', providing my mentally challenged friends with hours of amusement.

My first car was a brand new car. I didn't plan for it to happen, nor did I throw a Super Sweet 16-style tantrum to ensure my first set of wheels was straight off the forecourt. My parents had been speaking for a long time about a second car, and as I was set to pass my test in a few weeks (the cockiness of it all), it just seemed like common sense.

The 'L' on that piece of paper stands for 'legendary'...

Me and Dad did the usual Father-Son bonding exercise of visiting secondhand car dealers, but seeing as we both know a lot about cars, he couldn't just fob me off with some Japanese washing machine and expect me not to notice when it didn't go above 43mph.

So I was blessed with a brand new Ford Ka. A Ford Ka Zetec Climate TwoTone to be precise, meaning the bumpers were a cool silver colour and it sat on a lovely set of 15' Minilite alloys. And it had a spoiler. It was about as Essex as a Ka could be, bar putting an exhaust the size of Jupiter on the back. I thought it was awesome; it had an iPod connector in the stereo which was my absolute favourite bit about it.

Alas, a Ka has a reputation somewhat of being a woman's car. Whereas people who drive Minis take great pride in being able to say 'hi' to other Mini drivers while pottering along, the only other people who seemed to drive Ka's are frumpy old women who've recently just been divorced. Needless to say I felt like I didn't want to associate with these people.

There's something fantastic about a little car though. That smug feeling when you're gunning it down the motorway in the outside lane; the little whine as the valves jump onto the bonnet and play you a tune when you rev it to the red line; the ability to park anywhere. It all adds up to a experience that means whenever you're driving along, the Cheshire Cat grin never leaves your face.

But like everything good in this world, it has to come to an end. Despite being three years old and having only 15,000 miles on the clock, the Ka is the longest we've ever had a car by some considerable distance. Such is my Dad's Rafa Benitez-like chop and change policy, they're normally swapped every nine months (it's a complicated system that I can't be bothered to divulge in an otherwise simple blog). And so this weekend, we're driving the little Ka up to Chelmsford to trade it in for a Fiesta; a bigger car but that does not necessarily mean a bigger smile.

I've had some cracking times in that little car, some I won't go into too much detail as the police might have an enjoyable time jotting all of it down and use it all to form a driving conviction George Michael would balk at.

It was always an idea of mine as a small child who invested too much time in Gran Turismo to take my first car, no matter whether it was an ice cream truck, a horse and cart or a disgustingly chav-tacular Citroen Saxo, I was going to take it round the Nubürgring. Alas, unless I can convince my rents to let me have the car for a 24hour jaunt to Germany and back, my dream is going to end in tears. Well, not quite, but you get the idea.

I don't know how I'm going to feel come Saturday; I don't know that I want to give up my first car. Will it be like what half of Africa feels like whenever Madonna comes over for a child-themed shopping trip? It's better that the Ka goes out this way than in a smouldering fireball after a race down a country lane with a Porsche...who am I kidding that's exactly how I would've wanted to get rid of it.

I'm going to stop rambling before this turns into some form of written car porn. I hope this pays a fitting tribute to the Ka, because like every other first in your life, it's the thing you remember the most. So long Ka, I've enjoyed you making me look like a menstrual middle-aged lady.