Estate of Mind

I have only ever bought one car, brand spanking new.

Business had been good for a couple of years and I was confident enough to make a financial commitment and simultaneously credit-worthy enough with the bank to qualify for a loan.

I had been seduced by the sights and sounds of the racing Volvo's in the British Saloon Car Championships of 1994. Not just ordinary Volvo's but, surprise , surprise the 850 Estate model which had both shocked and surprised the motor racing world by dominating the series even against the pure bred and pedigree marques of Alfa Romeo, BMW, Honda and Ford.

It was a stroke of genius for the marketing guru's at the immensely conservative Swedish manufacturer. I expect that the first person in that department to propose developing and entering an estate car in such a competitive series immediately lost any sauna privileges and their IKEA discount card. It was a revolutionary move but inspirational. The vehicles, rumoured to be whittled from a single piece of scandinavian timber, had suffered the brunt of perpetual jokes about being dependable but ultimately boring. The typical customer base for a Volvo estate car included tweed jacketed intellectuals, accountants with an eye on residual values, equestrian types and lets face it, anyone at all fuddy duddy and predictable.

The racing Volvo estate cars were a revelation in that they were so far removed from the versions available to the consumer in terms of rip roaring performance and aggresion on the track but yet provided the role model for a new generation of aspirational Volvo drivers. I was in that targeted demographic.

However, I was interested in the 850 Estate because it would accommodate my wife, soon to be three offspring, 2 dogs and all the support structure and accoutrements that go with the regular movements of a mini-civilisation.

Being a prospective purchaser of a brand new Volvo was an interesting experience. The sales team at the local dealership went into overdrive. Nothing was impossible to promise or acheive and I can honestly say that they did not fail or come up short in anything for me as a new customer and during my subsequent 13 year love affair with the brand.

As soon as I had placed the order I became not a number but a Surname to the Volvo production line in Sweden. I was, I was assured and fully believed, allocated a specific day, hour and session of the manufacturing process of the factory. To the workers it was Mr Thomsons car that was taking shape. Whether etched on the chassis in the ultimate in personalisation or translated into a unique barcode I was an intimate friend of the assembly team. An invitation to the corporate cabin in the woods would surely be in the post.

The specification to ensure that the Thomson family were safe, air conditioned ,comfortable and segregated from two boisterous and often smelly hounds was in play and would be sure to be implemented as though we were standing there and supervising in person.

That moment upon seeing the vehicle M221 EKH on the garage forecourt seconds after being delivered was as close as I have ever been to swooning over an inanimate lump of metal on four wheels.

The car exceeded all expectations and met all of its requirements and demands from a large family unit.

It seemed like no time at all before I was taking a photograph of the mileometer as it ticked over to 100,000 miles. I also experienced that wonderful feeling of driving a car on which all finance had been paid off, after 7 years and by then, over 140,000 trouble free miles travelled.

The inevitable selling process was a bit traumatic. Boring people insisted on taking a leisurely test drive and asking why I had not fitted a tow bar given that they were, without exception, caravanners. I could stand the inane comments and tyre kicking no longer and was happy to do a part exchange deal with my best pals at the Volvo garage. Amazingly, the acquisition of a nearly new, garnet red (not pink- Alice!) turbo charged estate car replacement did not involve the exchange of any monies whatsoever because I had simply run in the old model ready for many decades of ongoing faithful service.

Even now, taking into account that M221 EKH would be some 18 years old and a million miles on the clock, I still feel lovestruck palpitations whenever I see a blue, square fronted Volvo estate coming into view packed to the headlinings with children, fenced in animals and parents looking like they were on the move with all their precious possessions in the safest place in the whole wide world.