A Touch of Motoring Style

This is something that’s been lying on my “Blog about some day” pile for a few months. The reason it hasn’t made to the top yet is because I’m not quite sure what to say about this car. There’s a fine line between poking a bit of fun, and ripping an entire subculture to shreds. The other reason is that the photographs are hardly of a high calibre. The reason for this was that they were taken somewhat surreptitiously using my cellphone. In a rush. The last thing I wanted was to be caught in the act by the lady herself – she might just unleash her nail varnish gun on me. So apologies for that in advance – most of them would benefit from a polarising filter.

The car in question belongs to the owner of a tanning and beauty clinic who moved into a house about 60 yards from our previous abode. It’s a lovely little car – a Toyota RAV4. The little decal details are gorgeous – those little pink butterflies should be standard issue on all babe-mobiles. The back wheel cover bears a little more personalisation than is usual, though, with a registration plate to match:

Just in case you didn't pick up the fact that she's posh from the wheelcover, she has the registration plate to prove it

The inside of the car contains a distraction of bric-a-brac. There’s no other collective noun appropriate for this load of tripe. My personal favourites are the pink faux fur steering wheel cover, and the matching cover on the rear-view mirror.

When you're not sure you have enough Dashboard bling, get a white poodle

Edible Parenting for Beginners

Cute Little Itty Bitty Outfit in the window

At this point, I could go on a bit about chavs and poor taste, but I’d run the risk of someone mentioning the Cape Flats, and that’s just as embarrassing. So I’ll let the horror of the pictures above sink in and tell their own story. Whatever that may be.

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1 Response to A Touch of Motoring Style

  1. Brad Nixon says:

    Nick, you may have given The Counselor some decorating tips for HER RAV4 that’s out in the driveway. I’ll bet if you’d knocked on the lady’s door (Americans do NOT say “knocked-up” in that sense) she’d have opened the doors for you to shoot without reflections. Language barrier: “chavs?” “Cape Flats?” Clueless in LA

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