5 things I love about our Hyundai Santa Fe

Not sponsored at all. I just fucking love my car.

We've had our new (to us) 2013 Santa Fe for a year now, and I am still head over heels in love with it. Our old car was cool, but whenever I get in to this one, I feel like I'm living in the future and spontaneously break in to song.

So here are the things I absolutely love about it

Inbuilt sun shades on the rear windows
Duuuuude. DUUUUUDE! These are so freakin' cool the way they stow away in to the door and then pull up whenever you want. Gone are the days of the "wind sock" or the stick on things that meant you couldn't open the window, or the other slightly better stick on things that mean they only sometimes get caught when the window opens. I'd get it on with these things if I was in to the whole Objectum Sexual shebang.

Reversing camera
I've had the sensors before, but never the camera. It is so bloody awesome for reversing in to a space and knowing just how close you can get. On the dashboard it lights up if the object is left/right/centre and the colour it is depends on how close you are to it. Handy. I'm paranoid about kids in driveways, so this has given me so much peace of mind. But I mainly use it to double check I'm parked straight in a car park bay, this is how it goes: pull in, put car in reverse, see the lines, see that I'm smack bang in the middle, give myself a high five.

Sat Nav
I've never had Sat Nav before - I have Map Guy, the human Sat Nav instead. But I use it all the time and map obsessed Tricky loves it if I leave it on. The lovely "Jennifer" (the name of the Australian female voice - there is Aussie and British male and female) tells me where to turn and the little screen shows me the map, which lane I should be in, what the overhead signs are going to look like, even the speed limit or if there are hazards ahead. I usually talk back to her, which is a bit weird, but hey, we all need to talk to someone, right?

Speed warning
I hate speeding. I try my hardest not to do it and I hate it when other people speed near me. When someone hoons around all I think is "Clark! I don't want to spend the holidays dead!". But the afore mentioned Jennifer lets me know if I'm going too fast. "You are over the speed limit" she says in her sultry radio tones. The only issue is that sometimes she gets it wrong because the limit has changed recently, at which point I usually tell her off along the lines of "Eat a dick, Jennifer" or "Fuck off and die, Jennifer". No, I'm not proud of myself.

Third row seating
Seats go up, seats go down, seats go up, seats go down. I'm Homer Simpson on that cloud every time I get to use the third row. It's like magic: it's a boot, no it's a seat! We've used it more times than I thought we would and it's no doubt going to be used heavily when we're ferrying kids and their friends around.

There are heaps more things I love, but those are definitely my top five.

A his and hers review of the XC60 R-Design

This is a S3 post. I drove the Volvo for a week.

For full details please see my disclosure policy

Driving a car for the specific purpose of reviewing it made it glaringly obvious that MG and I look for very different features in a vehicle. I'm all about the dashboard and ease of use, while he is all about handling, and whatever it is that is under the hood. Engine thingies?

We took this role very seriously so we could present a his and hers review. And oh look, I am such a blatant stereotype it makes me sick. Also, MG writes like he's about to start working for an auto mag, and I'm all conversation and swearing. Dude makes me look bad.

HIS REVIEW - Map Guy takes the XC60 for a country drive

Volvo is a European marque with a history of making premium cars for over 80 years. The XC60 is the company’s second foray into the SUV market and a 2014 update means this car is dripping with the latest in automotive technologies.

Volvo conjures visions of comfort, safety and practicality and more recently - speed. The model I tested was the XC60 D5 R-Design; which means Volvo finished a perfectly good D5 Luxury model and handed it over to the mad racing scientists at Polestar.

What they do with this car is find an extra 11kW of power and 30Nm of torque over the standard D5 and knock the 0-100km/h time down to 8.1 seconds. The twin turbo 2.4L 5 cylinder diesel isn’t silky smooth like others in the luxury SUV class and it’s raspy note is something Polestar have done a great job of enhancing with an excellent dual exhaust set up. While not winning ¼ mile drags, the roll-on acceleration is certainly addictive and many times I found myself having to rein in a speedy right boot.

Don’t get thinking the extra tuning made this diesel thirsty either, its 70L tank is more than capable of returning over 800km and we averaged 7.8L/100km on a hilly highway drive.

I’ve never heard a Volvo owner complain after a long drive and I can attest that the R-Design seats are the most comfortable I’ve tested in a car. The leather is of a high quality and the dash and interior fit and finish are up with the best. The back seats offer a unique Volvo feature with two-stage temporary booster cushions and a centre armrest that contains cup holders and a fold out storage area. This proved invaluable on a country drive with Tricky arranging his lunch box and colouring materials in the middle for easy access.

When you need to get work done the XC60’s rear bench folds completely flat making it ideal for hauling large items. Made even easier with a high opening button activated tailgate. It’s no slouch with a trailer either; 2000kg tow rating making it an ideal family solution. The full height taillights are a handy feature in the car park with a light button on the key fob illuminating these and the day-time running lights to help me find my way back with a full trolley.

The XC60 R-Design tops the XC60 range and as such features many of Volvo’s state of the art active and passive safety technology. City safety technology prevents the car colliding in low-speed traffic, two rear parking cameras made it so easy to reverse park and bi-xenon headlights use GPS and steering inputs to turn up to 15° to help see around the next bend. Combining this with state-of-the-art ABS, Traction Control and optional extras like lane departure warning and blind-spot information systems you will make no mistake, this is a 5 star safety rated car.

Unfortunately not all R-Design extras impressed. Like the flappy paddles – well placed and beautiful they don’t work particularly well with a diesel engine and I found myself instead using ‘S+’ with the gear leaver rather than manually working through the 6 gears. The tachometer is entirely digital which means you can change the display to suit your tastes; I’d have liked to see more than the 3 options and was amused by an “Eco” mode that showed a speedo reaching 260km/h!

Infotainment systems have quickly become a make or break item for new car buyers. The XC60 R-Design comes equipped standard with a 5 inch LCD screen and is controlled by a dial in the central binnacle. Reaching over to adjust settings became an occasional frustration as this was one of 4 dials arranged around no less than 31 buttons! The voice and steering wheel controls however are very handy options (have a car reading you a shorthand text message is hilarious).

All in all the Volvo XC60 R-Design impressed all who came near it. Stunning looks (it really is handsome with the optional 20 inch wheels), a quick and economical diesel engine and some of the most comfortable surroundings a travelling family could ask for. I would have liked the entertainment system to join the Android Auto or Apple CarPlay revolution, probably a victim of timing rather than any other constraints during the latest update.

This is the type of model a small family should shop for when opting for a single car. Sporty, luxurious, practical; plenty here for everyone to enjoy.

(MG has entered his half of the review in a competition, if you'd like to vote for him click on over here - it's not related to this in any way)

HER REVIEW - Glow does the school run and heads to the shops. Over and over again. When I jumped in to the XC60 and inhaled that new car smell deep in to my lungs, I felt a sensation somewhere between exhilaration - were they really going to let me just drive out of here? Didn't they hear me say "the faster the better" during my hot lap? - and sheer terror. An expensive car that I have to give back in one piece? Bring on the granny driving and jokes about being a "bloody Volvo driver".

I headed out of the Cannington Volvo lot and by the time I was on the highway I'd already turned the wipers on three times attempting to indicate, and fallen in love with the leather seats. With the hug like hold of a racing seat (but with support and padding) and seat warmers cranked, my tooshie was loving it.

Tricks thought the in-built booster in the XC60 was the bomb. It was his first experience without a five point harness and the thought of being a "big boy" was very appealing to him. A fabulous concept which worked great for us, though I'd be concerned that on long journeys a child could fall asleep and lean in to the wrong position affording them little protection in the event of a collision. Though this is a concern with any child in a booster without a five point harness and isn't specific to the Volvo.

I used the car mainly for school pick ups and grocery shopping, and I tell ya, I felt a bit posh! Sleek lines and the throaty rumble of a diesel, the XC60 definitely turned heads. Shopping was a breeze with the automated tailgate and I found myself wanting to show it off "Oh, you have a handbag? Let me open the boot for you" *press* "You want to keep it on your lap? No problem, I'll just close it" *press*. Speaking of the boot, it's pretty massive and passed my gigantic-pram-the-size-of-a-boat test with flying colours. I'm disappointed they didn't keep the cool opening and closing function going on all the way around and have keyless entry - that is a godsend when you've got your hands full with kids and groceries in the middle of a busy car park.

Just look at that boot space

But I'm afraid the XC60 didn't make me fall in love with it the way it won over MG. I found the dashboard to be way too busy with OMG SO MANY BUTTONS. The interface didn't seem very intuitive to me and even using the steering wheel mounted control wheel it felt almost like a clunky afterthought. The voice activation alleviated some of the issues at times, but there was still a lot of looking down to figure things out and twiddling of dials to enter information, effectively taking my eyes off the road for longer than I felt was safe.

I felt it could have been much improved by a touchscreen (which would get rid of about two thirds of those bloody buttons to start with) and a better GPS system. As it stands it would beep if there was an upcoming speed camera but had no information on current speed limits or if you're exceeding them - I'm quite used to my current car telling me "You are over the speed limit" if my speed starts to creep up and it even adjusts for school zones and road works, so there was a high benchmark to meet there and it just didn't stack up like I expected it to.

The XC60 was a joy to drive (S+ mode is brilliant!), and it really is absolutely beautiful to look at, but it fell short for me. As someone who is in and out of the car a lot throughout the day, keyless entry and a more sophisticated console would be needed before I could consider shelling out for it to be my main ride, no matter how pretty it is.

The hot lap that was meant to be

This is a S2 post as I got invited to an event.
There was no obligation to blog the event or the prize.

For full details please see my disclosure policy

It seems forever ago now, what with the whole me being hospitalized and then BOTH my kids being hospitalized, but I recently got the opportunity to go to a Meet the V8 Drivers event at Volvo Cannington.

Map Guy and I are big V8 fans. He more so than me; he can tell you all the drivers' names and stats, and which bits of the engine does what, but my knowledge is not quite as robust. I love fast cars that make a lot of noise and can tell you where the steering wheel is. I pick a team based on the colour or car number.

We were so excited to attend, and a little nervous if I'm honest - I was the only parent blogger there, the others were fashion bloggers and they were all looking fabulous and fancy, while I'm there in my Coles jeans. MG assured me I wasn't under dressed

On the invite it mentioned that a V8 hotlap around Barbagallo Raceway would be drawn as a prize on the night, so first thing we did was put our entries in. I drew a little Volvo symbol on mine just in case whoever drew it saw it and went "OH LOOK, EXTRA EFFORT! Ima choose this one" (they didn't). I told my friend I was going to win it because it's the #33yearofme.

The Volvo drivers, Scott McLaughlin and David Wall, were there so MG waltzed up and schmoozed them.  They seemed happy to talk to someone who knew cars and the Barbagallo track. MG was in heaven. I discovered that Scott McLaughlin drove car 33 and told him it was my favourite number so he was now "my driver". Which I'm sure did not freak him out at all.

Toward the end of the night (after I'd been told I'd get a loan of a Volvo soon - OMG! It's this week!) they interviewed the guys - they said Perth drivers suck at merging and they were not wrong - and then it was on to the draw. Third prize, second prize, and now, the first prize. The emcee swished her hand around and randomly pulled out an entry... IT HAD A VOLVO LOGO DRAWN ON IT!

Booyah!!!

I got talking again to the drivers and mentioned that I'd done a hot lap before and felt really sick from the smell of petrol and the G forces. Quick as a flash, David pipes up "Well, lucky your favourite number is 33, because you can ride with Scott!". Scott did really well to hide his distress. Ha!

"I'll try not to vomit in your car" I said. He smiled. Poor guy.

On the day, I felt like crap. I was having so much trouble breathing and I'd go on to end up in hospital the next day, but there was no way I was missing this. I went with my Dad and watched as the other people took their laps.

I got chatting to the woman next to me and managed to make a bit of ass of myself:

"Such an awesome prize. I had a feeling I'd win this, how cool that we all get to go in a real race car!
"I didn't win mine. I paid $100,000"

Cue awkward moment.

"Oh, do you sponsor the team?"
"No, I bought a high end Volvo."

Then it was my go.

I suited up. Being on pit lane, this close to the cars and feeling that rumble, I was really grateful that the suits were dark just in case I crapped my pants.

The "oh shit" smile began around here

I turned myself in to a pretzel to get in to car 33 with Scott. A real V8 Supercar with a real racing driver. Duuuuuude.

"You're not going to spew in my car, are you?" he said.

Smiling so big in a helmet gave me chipmunk cheeks

I couldn't believe he remembered me. We figured out a signal to stop if I was going to be sick, but told him the faster the better. Some people were doing single laps and some were doing double, based on how well they were handling it. As we were rounding the last corner he asked if I was good to go again and we roared down the straight at over 300km/h. I was shoved so far back in to the seat that I could feel my face flatten out. It was AMAZING!!!!

Thumbs up for not spewing!

I smiled the whole time. A weird mouth open, holy shit I can't move my body but this is awesome smile. I also did a thumbs up sign most of the way around for some reason - I'd done it early on to say I was OK and I think I was paralyzed in awe and just couldn't move.

It was so much fun and Scott was so lovely. The whole thing was recorded and I had no idea... good thing I didn't chunder all over the place!


Car 33 in the #33yearofme. It was meant to be.

The day I left my baby in the car

I'm opening myself up to a lot of criticism with this post. If you'd like to tell me how horrible I am, go ahead. There is nothing you can say to me that I haven't already said to myself. But maybe, just maybe, you'll see that by pressing publish on this post, when tragic stories hit the news, it isn't necessarily torch and pitchfork time.

There used to be an Australian TV show called Crownies (it's now called Janet King). They had a story line where a baby died in a hot car after the father forgot him. The episode left me devastated and has stayed with me. Then, last year, it happened in real life here in Perth with an 11 month old baby and I was equally distressed. One was a fictional family and the other a real one that I had zero connection to, and yet my heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest. I remember my arms aching to hold my babies even closer that night, and it was one of the occasions where Tricky kicking me in his sleep was a blessing.

I wrote of my distress on my Facebook page and it touched a lot of people. Some were upset whilst others were confused at how anyone could ever forget a child and suspected something sinister (as the courts in the US suspect now in a horrible case). A Washington Post article did the rounds, explaining how common forgetting a child was (it's a long, but fascinating article). It referenced the Swiss Cheese Theory and it stuck in my head. Likening our lives to slices of Swiss Cheese, the holes are all over the place and when things fall through one layer, there is another right underneath to catch it... but sometimes, those holes line up and accidents happen.

Bobbin is a few days shy of being 11 months old, and yesterday, I forgot she was with me. The holes in our Swiss Cheese life lined up:

For starters my memory is shot. On Monday I forgot, within 40 minutes that MapGuy was off work, sick. I came home to grab a bag I had forgotten and nearly shat myself when I saw someone standing in the hall out of the corner of my eye.

Yesterday MG was off work sick again. With him home it meant I could drop Tricky at his first day back at school solo, which was fabulous because getting two of them out of the car in the rain is a pain.

At pick up time I ummed and ahhed about taking Bobbin with me or leaving her home with MG because of the rain. I decided to take her then I'd go shopping after I picked up Tricks. MG put her in the car while I jumped in the front. As I was backing out the driveway I realized I'd forgotten the shopping list so MG ran inside to get it and handed it to me through the window. I even made a joke about having a terrible memory, and waved goodbye.

I drove to school thinking about nothing important. The shopping list. What time to start dinner. Wondering if Tricks had had a good day at school. Wondering if I'd get a parking spot.

I pulled in to the street and parked in the exact same spot I had parked in that morning. Score. About ten metres away from the gate, close enough to not need an umbrella, even if the few spots of rain that had been threatening for half an hour decided to fall. I got out, jammed my keys in my pocket and walked through the school gate.

I chatted. I put my name down on the parent roster. I chatted some more. Tricky came out, we hugged and I asked him about his day. "It was good. Come and play with me." So I did. The rain was holding back so we walked around his playground looking at the strawberry plants and the Camellias. I was so impressed with myself that brown-thumb me could recognize some plants.

We walked through the gate hand in hand, swinging our arms, chatting about being back at school. It was a lovely moment, until we reached the car and I opened the door for him. Because that's when I saw her.

She leaned forward in her car seat, still rear-facing, and smiled at Tricky, saying his name.

I felt all the air rush out of my lungs and for the briefest of moments I could swear my heart stopped. I was so confused.

What the fuck is going on? How did you get here? Didn't I leave you with your Dad? No. I didn't. I brought you. I forgot you. I left you. Fuck. FUCK!

Ten minutes. I forgot her for ten whole fucking minutes while I made bullshit small talk about school holidays and not getting any sleep.

I got in the car and carried on like nothing had happened. We went to the shops and I walked around on autopilot grabbing the handful of things we needed. I spoke to the cashier, I smiled at a school mum, I told Tricky he couldn't have a packet of biscuits. Just push through, just go through the motions, don't acknowledge the horror, don't fall apart.

At home I told MG and then emailed my sister to declare that I was the worst mother to have ever lived. A throw back to Catholic school days and a need to confess my sins, searching for absolution. They were both shocked but understanding. I withdrew.

You would think, that after such a disturbing event, that I would spend the rest of the afternoon hugging my children, smothering them with kisses. But I didn't. For the remainder of the afternoon I avoided my kids, so ashamed with my actions (or lack thereof) that I could barely look at them. The thoughts that ran through my head were dark and scary, reminiscent of times when the Black Dog was not just barking at my heels, but mauling my soul. It was frightening how quickly I went back to old, familiar thought patterns.

After a few hours, when I could breathe again, I ran a bath for me and the kids. I washed their hair and we played with cups, splashing and laughing. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal.

I read Tricky a book and cuddled him to sleep, stroking his hair. Bobbin fed to sleep in my arms and I held her for a while, kissing her forehead, smelling that fresh baby smell as the endless what ifs circled whirled through my head. And finally, I cried.

MapGuy says it's OK. That all is forgiven. This was "just" ten minutes on a rainy day with no tragic outcome. I know I would tell someone else in my position that it was an accident, to take the experience, move on, learn from it. But right now, I just can't forgive myself.

Of Man And Machine

This is a guest post by the one and only Map Guy. An unsolicited blog post. I know, I couldn't believe it either. And now you will all know that not only does the guy make maps, but he writes, too. And he writes well. None of the sweary, ranty stuff that I do. He needs a blog.

So we did it. We bought a new (to us) car. As I sit hear smiling at our shiny new set of wheels and pour over feature lists for hidden goodies from those talented engineers I can’t help but shed a small tear for the great lump of metal that carried our family around for the last 4 years.

That’s right, our big red Territory is the only car Tricky remembers as a family ride and it’s just a little bit special that we were all in there the day Bobbin triumphantly arrived home.

It makes me stop and think. Which car was I brought home in? What did mum use to drop me at school on that very first day? What underpowered machine was I lucky enough to learn how to drive in? Funny enough I remember that Toyota Corona station wagon; and if you were a kid growing up in suburban or regional Australia I bet you remember your milestone cars too.

The schoolyards were awash with badge-snob divisions. Kids riding in Camry sedans, Falcon station wagons and I’m sure I can remember playing a lengthy game of eye-spy with my brother on opposite seats in a Land Cruiser troop carrier on a 20 hour overnight trip.

We remember the clunky three speed manuals, the rattly non-turbo diesels and the lucky kids with their Bathurst loving V8 driving folks (ah, if only).

I miss my family cars. I miss my own motley collection of Aussie built Fords that have seen me through these first 14 years of adulthood. Taking a memory-walk past the Coronas, Cruisers and Falcons that peppered my life-shaping events I took a little time to just sit in the Territory. I soaked up a little of what we left in those seats and consider just what a hunk of rolling metal might mean to the little boy and girl in my life who don’t remember looking out from anything else.

Sometimes cars have more to tell us than their tiny scrapes, dents and lengthy odometer readings can attest.

Perhaps we all have an emotional connection to our first childhood cars? What do you remember about your family’s cars?

Glow: I remember being dropped at school in an orange Datsun Stanza with a tan roof. Retro, baby!

Happy to be a Sunday Driver this Easter

This little family of mine is quite used to the long weekend road trip. A few times a year we load up the car and trek the 400km or so from Perth to Albany to visit Map Guy’s family and childhood friends.

Every time we make the journey, without fail, we see some dickhead overtake a truck or a caravan and make it back in to their own lane with only a second to spare. Or a hoon overtake us at 150km/h as we sit on the speed limit. The amount of near-misses I’ve seen is staggering. What’s the hurry?

This weekend was no different. One particular incident, right on dusk when then Roos are out in force involved a sedan overtaking a 4x4 towing a caravan and required the 4x4, the overtaking car and the oncoming car to slam on their brakes to avoid a head on collision. A head on collision where all parties were going over 110km/h.

And I just don’t get it.

I abhor the long drive to Albany just as much as the next person and this weekend it took us just over six hours thanks to the three million caravans and trucks. Sitting in one position for an extended period of time means all my muscles seize up and cramp so it quite literally is a pain in the ass for me. Add a toddler, a million requests for snacks, three thousand repetitions of the alphabet song and wheels on the bus (which lose their cute factor after the first dozen or so) and a farting dog and I’m well and truly over it and working out how to budget the exorbitant airfare in to our next trip down after the first hour or two. I’d love to get there quicker too, but at what cost? And I’m not talking about budgets any more.

There are a number of memorials that line the highway; bright white crosses rising from the red dirt as stark reminders of those who didn’t make it home. Throughout the year some are adorned with flowers, others with birthday balloons, celebrating the life of someone who will not be blowing out any more candles. At one spot, four crosses are clustered together with a fifth off to the side. I get shivers up my spine every time I pass it and wonder who those four people were. Friends on a road trip? A family? Were the children grown up or were they Tricky's age? Whoever they were, they were gone in an instant.

I’m reminded of the wise words of Ellen in ‘National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation’ when she says “Clarke! I don’t want to spend the holidays dead!”. Do you know how hard it is to enjoy the Easter holidays when you’re dead? Unless you plan on rising three days later, then there really isn’t much to celebrate.

I’m not a saint of a driver. I’ve had three speeding fines in my 12 years of driving, have mounted my fair share of kerbs in car parks and once I even managed to reverse in to my neighbour’s stationary car and nudge it in to her $4000 road bike (don’t ask). Plus last year I found out the hard way that if you’re in the turning lane then change your mind and go straight, even when you’re the only car in sight, that it will cost you $150 and two demerit points.

We can’t always know what is around that bend, but it’s a pretty safe bet that taking it 40km/h too fast is not doing anyone any favours. I know, not all accidents are caused by speed. Fatigue, particularly on long highway drives, is a huge factor. Then there are the freak accidents, like the major crash in November 2011 where a horse wandered on to Albany Highway seriously injuring up and coming WAFL player Warwick Proudlove.

I can’t control other drivers, and that is the bit that annoys me the most. So I do the few things that I can, like change drivers and stick to the speed limit, to make sure we have the best chance of getting our precious cargo to its destination.

The pain of being in a car for hours on end is annoying but it hurts a hell of a lot less than burying loved ones.

Are you a Speed Racer? Or a Sunday Driver?

Louboutins, Lamborghinis and the Living Dead

This post is sponsored by Nuffnang

Map Guy gets a subscription to a car magazine every Christmas… well he usually does. Last year he decided, for some unknown reason, that he wanted to branch out and get something different. Which completely sucked because I had to think of a new present for him - I bought him a Hot Lap, forgot about it, bought him something else awesome, then remembered the Hot Lap and died a little inside realizing how much money I’d spent.

But I digress.

When I told Map Guy we were getting the chance to review Top Gear Australia Magazine he went a little crazy. The thought of having a car magazine back in hands after such a long period of automotive abstinence made him foam at the mouth in anticipation. He lost the ability to form sentences and just went around the house making vroom vroom noises and driving an imaginary Ferrari. I rolled my eyes but Tricky thought it was awesome fun and joined in.

After he stopped ran out of petrol, we tried to figure out which article we liked best. I like cars – I like the noise they make, I like some of the shapes, I like being driven fast around a track and I really like that new car smell... yet I still choose my car based on colour, how easily I can fit a massive bloody pram in the boot and whether or not it has a wine bottle holder (mine does!). Therefore if I had to call myself a car nut I’d be a peanut. Map Guy likes everything about them – things that I have no clue about like diffs, cam shafts, injectors, and I’m slightly embarrassed to say, manual gearboxes. He is a giant car nut… a brazil nut. Or a coconut if that’s actually a nut – I was too afraid to Google “big nuts” and check.

So I grabbed the mag and flicked through:

“What about this Range Rover Evogue article, Map Guy? It says the interior could match my Christian Louboutins!”

“What the hell are they? Is that one of those expensive handbags?”

“No, they’re shoes”

“Do you own a pair?”

“Nah, I’d have to sell a kidney to afford them… OK how about the James May Pub Guide to Technology?”

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate Glow, considering even after the cartoon explanation, you’ve still have no idea what it was about…”

“Yes I do! It’s about giant pints of beer… isn’t it?”

“Errr no. Hand over the Top Gear Magazine and no one gets hurt. Here, what about this one? We can talk about the Lamborghini.”

“Ewwww it looks like someone beat it with the ugly stick. Plus it’s white, I hate white cars. What about the article I saw with the man posing naked in front of his car in the middle of nowhere?”

“What’s it about?”

“I don’t know, I only looked at the naked man pictures.”

“Wow, you’d make an excellent TT reporter. WAIT! I’ve found it! Zombie cars!”

“Zombie cars? SHOW ME! OMG I WANT ONE!”

So having managed to avoid the Ford vs Holden carnage that usually ensues when we watch motorsport together, we have survived the tandem reading of Car Magazines and managed to zone in on the undead. I love that man, take that, seven year itch!

After seeing him so happy I’ll definitely be heading back to the tried and true present of a magazine subscription. Plus this year I might win a tropical escape to Hawaii with Magshop’s Christmas competition. Treat your family and friends to a magazine subscription today so they’re reminded how awesome you are every month! Gals, if you can manage to time its arrival every month with your PMS, even the throwing of knives and dinner plates will be forgiven. Maybe.

100 Round the Bends: My V8 Hot Lap Experience

There's a Missy Higgins song (don't hate me) that says "we'll go 100 round the bends" and every time I hear her sing it I think "What? 100? Are you in a race car or just extremely irresponsible? Your car is going to get impounded young missy Missy and you're not doing a thing to bust the young stupid driver stereotype" at which point I realize it's just a song, no one cares and people are starting to look at the crazy lady having an animated conversation with herself at the traffic lights.

On the weekend I actually did go 100 round the bends (and it happened to be entirely legal) and I could not get that bloody song out of my head. I jumped in a V8 Supercar and did four hot laps, oooh yeah. My inner bogan rev head felt the need for speed and a sudden urge to smoke Winnie Blues and wear flannelette and thongs.

I bought Map Guy a double pass from one of those online voucher places and actually got around to using it before it lapsed like the last one I bought. He chose to take me and I was actually pretty surprised... I assumed (yes, ass:you:me, I know) that he'd take a mate or one of his car club buddies he's been around the track with before. But he chose me and I spent the morning saying "You choo choo choose me" because even though I was mixing up my modes of transportation I can't miss an opportunity to be annoying.

We rocked up at Barbagallo Raceway and suited up - in case you're wondering, it's really hard to pull on a firesuit when your back is so sunburned that you can't put your arms back. And so we're clear, firesuits are unattractive unless you're an actual V8 Supercar driver.

Needed a firesuit because I'm so hot

A non-action shot of Map Guy the scarecrow

Bogan couple in matching outfits

Last time I had a back seat bonus I didn't need a lanyard

There was a bit of waiting around for "photo's" because bogans can't spell

Then posing for "photo's" that they wanted to charge us $50 for when I could just take my own...

Then a bit more waiting at Stig School

Go for launch with my massive head in a tiny helmet

Jumping in for Step 8 "drive" - hard to see, but the brakes were on fire

We did four laps and reached over 220km/h down the back straight and did indeed do 100 round the bends. The heady smell of petrol and being subjected to massive G Forces (now called Glow Forces) meant that at the three and a half lap mark I was thinking less of Australian singer songwriters and more of the trajectory of my spew under Glow Forces.

Climbing out of the car all I wanted to do was get as far away from the fumes as possible, but I'd promised my shoes to some chick who had rocked up wearing thongs *coughbogancough* and wasn't allowed in the cars unless she found some closed in shoes. So we waited; me going slightly green and Map Guy thinking all his Christmases had come at once being in pitt lane for such a long time.

I felt sick for the remainder of the day but it was definitely worth it. Four hot laps for me, eight for my shoes. An awesome experience.

Are you a rev head? Would you do a hot lap? Would you lend your shoes to a bogan?