Kerre Woodham: Age triumphs over racy youth

Sales are all about too many people in one place - and all on a mission - so steer clear if you can. Photo / Steven McNicholl

Up until this week I had never bought a car. Forty-five - well, 46 tomorrow - and I'd never done something as fundamental as buying a car.

I've never really been into cars. I was late getting my licence. It took the threat of Radio New Zealand sacking me if I didn't obtain a licence, and the blind eye of a kindly traffic sergeant who forgave me all my vehicular transgressions if I would only promise not to drive unless it was strictly necessary, to make me get behind the wheel at the age of 20. Shamefully late by the standards of my peers from the provinces.

But although I could drive, in a fashion, I didn't own a car for ages - there were always better things to spend money on.

Eventually, however, I needed a car and I got a well-paying gig that afforded me the cash to buy one. I had no interest or knowledge in cars, so I sent out the bloke of the time with my chequebook to buy something suitable.

He came back with a sensible white, five-door, boxy Suzuki. He presented it to me in the carpark at Avalon with a flourish. It cost next to nothing to run, he said, was reliable, practical and safe. I looked at it, ugly and squat and smug in its safeness, and hated it. I didn't think the bloke was much chop either.

I saw myself as a racy, topless red sports car - albeit one that had been round the clock a few times and was starting to show signs of wear and tear - and he saw me as practical, user friendly and reliable. I kept the car but not the bloke, once he'd signed over the ownership papers.

The next car was a Fiat Uno that I loved but, again, I didn't really buy it. A car-dealer mate bought it for me and I just paid him back as my waitress wages wouldn't get me a formal loan.

So this week was the first time I've ever, of my own volition, gone to a car yard to buy a car. It was easy really, but I was glad my daughter was with me.

The first car I was shown was a red convertible Mini. Racy red, with cool headlights and, on a stinking hot Auckland day, I loved the idea of being exposed to the elements.

The 21-year-old walked around the car, peered in it and sucked air through her teeth like a seasoned trader. It's good, she said grudgingly - "it's just - there's something, I don't know".

Get behind the wheel, she said, and so I did. She walked to the front of the car, looked at me with gimlet eyes and said: "I see it now. I know why it's not right. You look like the female equivalent of a middle-aged man in a red Porsche." "Oh, lordy, I do," I said, leaping out of the car like a scalded cat.

The dealer then took me to a Peugeot, just like the one I was given to drive around in when I was advertising them on the radio. It was grey, with a roof, and four doors and wasn't skiting or being anything more than it should be - which is just transportation from A to B.

It was four years younger than the Mini and had a three-year guarantee. I bought it on the spot and I'm happy with it.

Surely it's a sign of maturity when you can eschew a racy, red topless thing in favour of the reliable, well put together quiet model?

YOU CAN'T SELL ME ON SALES

I know there are families who leave their Christmas until after the Boxing Day sales, but they are hardier souls than me.

I will never forget going to the mall for some last-minute travel requirements one Boxing Day and being confronted with a sea of people.

I had never seen so many people in one place at one time and all on a mission.

I quailed at the prospect of joining the throng and left, doing without whatever it was I needed.

If you are going to take advantage of the sales, here are a couple of tips from veteran shoppers:

* Take a taxi or get dropped off, don't try to find a park.

* Have a list of what you want and a map of the target shops.

* Take a bottle of water with you.

* Keep your cards in a handy pocket.

* Do NOT take the children with you nor your partner if they don't enjoy a good shop.

* Have a defined time for shopping.

* Be nice to the retail assistants and your fellow shoppers.

* Have a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge ready for your return.

Good luck.

HEAT ON... CLOTHES OFF

Wow. How about that heat then?

You'd think it would be a field day for burglars as we lie exhausted on our beds, windows and doors wide open, praying for a breath of a breeze.

But the burglars seem to be too knackered to be out there pilfering and stealing.

There's something very wrong with stepping outside and feeling like you're being wrapped in wet, warm towels when you are expecting the cool of the night air.

I saw a great Footrot Flats cartoon years ago that had Wal the farmer trudging over the fields cursing summer, wearing just his hat and his gumboots - and nothing else.

Lavalavas or nothing seems to be the only way to feel comfortable while this humidity continues - maybe that's what's keeping the burglars away from my house.

Kerre Woodham is taking a two-week break from today and will return on January 16.