THE PERFECT, PRETTY LITTLE MAZDA3
As the world goes big, I go small. This is the supreme wish. Especially when it comes to city cars. And supermarket carparks. And concrete pillars. Which is why the Mazda3 is perfectly suited to my needs.
Because I’m still haunted by the ancient Carpark Trauma. Once upon a time I had a mortifying ‘incident’ in a tight, subterranean supermarket carpark in a very large seven-seater (‘The Tank,’ I used to dub the beast, not fondly). The incident involved a failure to reverse out of a parking space that was annoyingly surrounded by muscular blocks of concrete pillar. Also, a failure to move forward in said parking space.
Yes, there I was, well and truly wedged by concrete behemoths and I cannot explain why. The only way free was to crumple The Tank. It had its rear sticking out. A row of vehicles was building behind me in this tiny carpark. Panic, sweat. My four kids were with me, gobsmacked. Mum was almost weeping with frustration.
A tradie was two cars behind. “Need any help?” came the yell, the blessed yell. He leapt into the driver’s seat, swiftly backed out The Tank in one smooth arc and proceeded to disappear, at speed, down to the next carpark level with not only my car but all my children, including baby, still in it. Gone, gone, vanished by a tradie, vanished from my life.
Oh my face in that moment. A mother from our local primary school was in the car directly behind me, laughing at my astonishment. My mortification. My everything. I had never ventured back into that evil carpark again.
But then. Enter the Mazda3. Because I have dreamt ever since of a Mum-sized city car that would have a very large boot, fit five people comfortably now that several kids have left home and allow me to zip in and out of very tight spaces.
I dreamt of this even more as the monster trucks thrust their way into our narrow, inner-city streets and carparks. (I place those shirtfronting Truck-zillas within a select category of serenity destroyers that also includes leaf blowers, jet skis and lawn mowers on a Sunday morning.)
Basically, I wanted a car that considers the world. That navigates the old streets of Sydney with zippy ease, effortlessly powering up its hills and weaving in rush hour traffic and ducking out of tight subterranean carpark spots with a blitheful dexterity.
Which is the Mazda3. Oh you pretty thing. Not just in its colour – a gently gleaming pearlesque, with a tinge of the sea to it - but in its interior, with its nod to a Jetsons’ retro world on the dash and its seats of the deepest, cheeriest, cherry-red leather. This is a car that smartens you up – a car that likes a heel. No more dashing off on the school run in flannelette jarmies in this baby.
Speaking of school runs, my teenage daughter kept on begging me for a spin with the L plates. To school. So the friends could clock the new car. You see, for the first time ever we had wheels deemed cool enough for the school run, a new experience in this household.
This is the car to make heads turn, in appreciation, at the sheer aesthetic pleasure of it all. Good morning, dear neighbour. Yes, we are moving up in the world. Doing just fine. And please note that lovely, sonorous sound emanating from the Bose speakers - instantly pointed out by the daughter, who notes such things. In fact, we had to collect other girls on the way to school, so they could also note such things. A first.
Speaking of school runs, my teenage daughter kept on begging me for a spin with the L plates. To school. So the friends could clock the new car. You see, for the first time ever we had wheels deemed cool enough for the school run, a new experience in this household.
This is the car to make heads turn, in appreciation, at the sheer aesthetic pleasure of it all. Good morning, dear neighbour. Yes, we are moving up in the world. Doing just fine. And please note that lovely, sonorous sound emanating from the Bose speakers - instantly pointed out by the daughter, who notes such things. In fact, we had to collect other girls on the way to school, so they could also note such things. A first.
How we both adore this car. When you click the key on approach it springs into alertness; purring out its side windows in readiness as if happy to see you. Yes, the Mazda3 is a happy car. Contented. Confident. Not tetchy. It feels like it’s looking after you; that when you press the start button it’s saying, metaphorically, “let me deal with all those pesky things like headlights and handbrakes, you don’t need to worry about any of that.” It deals with it all, automatically, and in response, my whole body relaxes. Ah, one less thing to worry about in this crazy busy life. I push the button for the heated seat and my lower back thanks me for it, and I never want this to stop.
On the road, the Mazda3’s response times are a dream. It doesn’t need to have a moment before accelerating from stop lights, or going up a hill from standstill, or having its air-conditioning turned on.
There’s not that old feeling of hang on, you want me to do this now, right now? This car is straight into business, with pleasure (if only the kids were more like it. And husband. And dog.) Plus there’s the delight of your speed, and ever changing speed limit, illuminated on the bottom of the windscreen because I never want to get another speeding ticket again for going 12km/h too fast in a school zone.
I have a winding hill near my home that my regular car feels a little unstable on, but the Mazda3 firmly, smoothly grips the road. It’s a secure sensation after years of feeling not quite in control on this route; firm and grippy rather than light and slippy. And so off I go, after the kids are deposited to their schools, to my favourite café and flower shop and then home again and out again to the delicious writing room that is the Member’s Lounge of the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Oh for the sheer joy of driving in this car! Give me more, more.
And, rather too often now, I find myself saying to the family, “I’m just going outside and may be some time,” but unlike poor Captain Oates of Scott of the Antarctic fame, I’m not going outside to expire but to live, live, live; to experience the world in that cherry-red seat. Night after night I now find myself on sorties to the supermarket to get, oh, one more carton of milk perhaps, or some study chocolate for the exam-burdened teen.
It’s basically just a chance to drive in my pretty little Mazda to, wait for it, the dreaded supermarket carpark. Yes, that one. Which I now traverse with ease. All fear wiped, at last. Thank you Mazda3.
Then I head home and sit in the car across from my house and guzzle my own secret chocolate and feel like a princess in her gorgeous little world of serenity and peace.
Reader, I could stay here for a very long time. So removed from my darling (demanding) family, yet so close. You see, a car is a woman’s shed. And this is the most luxurious shed I’ve ever been in.
As for those monstrous monster trucks that eat solace, not for me, thanks. No, no, personally, I need the anti-tank. Something small, zippy, unobtrusive, classy. And pretty, oh so pretty. The Mazda3 to be precise.
