- 12 Dec, 2025 *
A couple of days ago I took J to see a secondhand car for sale. We had decided that she finally needed a newer car than her 20 year-old Mini convertible. The sentimental value of her ‘little car’ was huge to her, with it being her major treat purchase after retiring. However, it was now, like us, showing signs of age. Wet signs mainly.
In the sun - fun to put the roof down, wind in the hair motoring. In the rain - dripping water leaking in and miserable motoring.
It had got to the stage where she would take my bigger SUV more often if the weather was rainy or windy. Or the trip involved carrying a load larger than a weekend bag with her. Or if the trip was for a distance more than about thirty miles.
Finally persuaded that if the reasons not to use it were …
- 12 Dec, 2025 *
A couple of days ago I took J to see a secondhand car for sale. We had decided that she finally needed a newer car than her 20 year-old Mini convertible. The sentimental value of her ‘little car’ was huge to her, with it being her major treat purchase after retiring. However, it was now, like us, showing signs of age. Wet signs mainly.
In the sun - fun to put the roof down, wind in the hair motoring. In the rain - dripping water leaking in and miserable motoring.
It had got to the stage where she would take my bigger SUV more often if the weather was rainy or windy. Or the trip involved carrying a load larger than a weekend bag with her. Or if the trip was for a distance more than about thirty miles.
Finally persuaded that if the reasons not to use it were happening a lot more often now, and it was time for it to go, we were looking at a newer car. Hopefully one with a proper roof that didn’t eat interior space for little practical benefit and leaked.
(I had used her Mini over the weekend of Storm Bram, while she had mine to take loaded up to a craft fair, and I got pretty miserable in that weather.)
She saw a newer Mini Countryman model in her price range (and in the ‘right colour’) on a garage’s website. She wanted to go and look at it in the metal as it ticked a lot of boxes for her, so she called them and arranged for us to trek fifty miles down to the south coast of Cornwall to have a look the next day.
We arrived and it was soon apparent that this was a very good car. The garage owner was not called upon to do much selling as even if it was still ten years old now, it was as straight as they come. Low mileage, on-the-dot service history, spotless unworn interior, and extra optional equipment like a ‘panoramic’ twin sunroof (to make up for her going without her folding back no-roof) and larger than standard – and un-bashed – alloy wheels.
"One lady owner," the sales guy informed us.
My retort to that – thinking this was surely a bit of a hackneyed old ruse these days – was "Don’t tell me, the proverbial vicars wife, only used it to go and see her Mum and WI meetings once a week."
Because that’s how the trope of flashy 1980’s car salesman’s patter went back in a different and deeply misogynistic age, meant to convince you that the car had been used gently by ‘the lady’ rather than run ragged by a young bloke fancying himself as a bit of a race driver.
But I went with the extra sarcasm points for the ‘vicar’s wife’, for even more stereotypical ‘only used her car lightly and drove it sedately’ imagery.
Anyway, the sales guy opened the documents folder that he had to show us proof that there was a full main dealer service history, so the car had been properly looked after, and the registration from new was indeed one lady. And her name?
Churchman.
So she was the wife of a Church man. But not a vicar.
She has bought the car now, so it’s on its second lady owner. Still not a vicar’s wife this time either.
Written by a real person, em dashes and all.
post link for sharing: https://skryblans.com/one-lady-owner
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