So many pedestrians... so little time....

Buying your first car should be, as far as I'm concerned, as close to a religious experience as possible. But after one and a half weeks of drooling over the idea of owning my own car, I'm still no closer to buying one, which makes it more like Buddhism in that you never reach heaven. I go to the dealers and these cars fling this lethal cerebral Molotov of sleek lines and exciting engine specs at me that make all higher functions impossible. I can just about stand upright and breathe at the same time.


The Nissan 200SX. The SX stands for SEX, i swear. Oh Silvia, you tease so sweet.


The Toyota Supra Coupe. Yummilicous even in older models. Horribly impractical. Damned pretty.


The Toyota MR2. Even more horribly impractical. Looks like it could fly.


The vintage Triumph Spitfire Roadster. The only way you could drive something more fun than that is if you tied a clown to the bonnet.

Add to that, the Holden Calibra with a V6 engine, the Nissan NX coupe, the Honda Integra and the Toyota Celica.

What really, truly kills me is that I can actually afford to get my grubby little paws on some of these cars. The legit way, which doesn't involve a crowbar, a hanger and hotwiring.

"I never cared about cars before this," I wailed to Kimi Rikkonen (he of the superb P-plate juju, and the latest in a series of the terribly helpful men who are taking out to shop for cars). "What’s happened to me?"

"It's in your blood," he told me gleefully, before clutching his chest. Diagnosis: massive myocardial infarct because he saw the latest Subaru WRX being driven off the back of a trailer at the dealership. Kimi knows what he's talking about.

So much horsepower, so little money.

Actually, money isn't that much of an issue. I've been told my budget's extremely workable. Part of the problem is the bewildering number of choices,and everyone and their gradnmothers have a different opinion on what's good and what's shite.

But more cripplingly, I need to solve my dilemma of practicality versus desire. People with far more driving experience and, frustratingly far more practical minds have been raining all over my impractical parade with good advice, and I'm being persuaded to consider the option of buying a crappy first car, so I can trash it with shitty driving as I learn to refine my skills without crying because my drop-dead gorgeous paintwork got a scratch on it. Then I can sell it in after a few months with minimal losses to buy a badass sex machine. The problem is, my brain recognizes that it’s a good plan but my eyes glaze over all the little hatchbacks and chick cars. I look at them and think of driving them and OHTHEHUMANITY. They look like those cats with no tails – it’s just a perversion of nature. I’ve spent the better part of the entire day battling against the race queen in my head, but my muscle seize up and I end up doing a little spastic dance because I cannot get myself to sit down behind some 1.3L wussmobile when my heart yearns madly for the low-slung sultry beauty sitting in the corner with the hard sports suspension and a million miles on her odometer because even when I’m looking for my shitty first car, I’m still looking for a shitty version of the cars I love, and not the cars I should buy.

The other option is the original plan, i.e. buy a a hot-as car and take it to town, with Grandmaster Kimi teaching me the fine art of driving like a pro. And then moonlight in the local strip club when I scratch the door backing into a parking space to pay for the multiple-thousand dollar repaint.

Comments? Suggestions?

Ohooh, and today I found out that Kimi plays classical violin AND has a racing license! How excitingly contradictory is that? We spent fifteen minutes in his car talking about engines and listening to Izhak Perlman. Sah-weet!