DRIVING A DAFFODIL
I'm heading towards one of those urban traffic calming things where the road narrows down to single lane and oncoming traffic has priority. So I slow down. Heading towards me is one of those big black Audi SUVs, and we know how aggressive they can be. Suddenly he's flashing his lights and I wonder what's wrong. Then, as he closes, I see the guy at the wheel is grinning. And waving. And giving a big thumbs up. Which is when I remember. I'm in Daffy.
Sometimes I forget, because she's become so normal to me. But not for long. There's usually someone to remind me, like that manic SUV driver, or sometimes the simple act of driving - of leaning through bends or the umbrella handle gearchange clicking back and forth - makes me grin. Driving a bright yellow 2CV is never dull.
Daffy arrived in our lives last April. Moving to Edinburgh, a decade ago now, meant our lives changed. Public transport is so good here, and the roads so crowded, that our old Skoda spent most of its time sat idle, quietly seizing up. Lockdowns came and problems arose from underuse. So did we really need a car? Probably not. The only time it felt necessary was getting to hockey matches on cold, wet, winter nights. Apart from that there was rarely any incentive to drive.
But I've hardly ever been without a car in the past half century, and giving up on that sense of convenience would be hard. Was that enough of a reason? Not really. If we were to justify ownership then there had to be some other justification. One thing was certain, the old Skoda, once so useful but now an encumbrance, had to go. Any replacement had to be something that brought some pleasure back to the act of driving.
I've had a few fun cars over the years, notably my beloved Matra Murena. But none of them would fit into our current life very well. Except one. Back in the nineties I had the aforementioned three seater, not always the most practical of vehicles. So we had a second car for Barbara, which I could also use. To match our French sports car in quirkiness we opted for... a Citroen 2CV. And Eric came into our lives.
Ok, so it's pretty naff to name cars, isn't it? 2CVs are different. They have character. They demand to be named. And Barbara always wanted a car called Eric, so such he became. Green and white and a bit rusty, a bit problematic at times, but fun to birl along in. Soon replaced by Phoebe, a white and red Dolly with Roadrunner stickers on the sides. Only replaced when we needed the second car that was a bit comfier on longer trips. During the Pheobe period we got married. On the cake sat two cars of icing, a grey Murena, and a red and white 2CV. While we, bride and groom, arrived at the Town Hall in a bright yellow Deuche chauffeured by a man in full racing gear (but that's another story...). The 'upturned pram' has had significance in our lives.
In the nineties 2CVs were a fairly common sight on UK roads. They'd sold well in the seventies and eighties (production ended in 1990), being cheap to buy and run, in tune with the fuel crises we experienced back then, and appealing to a certain type of person. In 2023 we went to a one man play starring the great Mark Thomas. One of the characters he described was a woman with flowing curls, cheesecloth tops and gypsy skirts, a social worker of middle class origins, and Mark asked the audience what car she'd have been driving. I immediately piped up "2CV", and I was right, to Mr Thomas' delight. I didn't get a chance to mention that it would almost certainly have had a big smiley face on the back, with the words "Nuclear Power- Nein Danke" proudly emblazoned. You get the picture.
But there aren't so many around nowadays, especially in Scotland. Rust, rust, rust, the great enemy, has taken them from us. But we'd made up our minds that this what we wanted, needed. So I set about the search, which motly involved haunting various duck-related Facebook pages. There was a red one down in Kent that looked perfect, but my online investigations left big question marks over the claimed restoration work and it was abandoned.
There was a blue one nearby, in a classic car dealer in Musselburgh. We went to see it. Not as claimed! Rust, rust, rust... No thanks.
Then a yellow one turned up in Somerset. Not perfect, but well within budget. Not fully restored, but well cared for. Not possible to go and view, but being sold by a name that had cropped up many times. Being sold on behalf of the widow of an enthusiast, a lover of the marque. Being sold by a man well respected in British 2CV circles as restorer, enthusiast, organiser of events, a man who wanted 2CVs to survive and thrive. We talked online. He sent photos, detailed the minor faults, gave me some history. A deal was struck, the Skoda departed. A transporter was arranged and, in early April, this yellow 2CV, with black roof (like our wedding carriage), was loaded on to a trailer and towed from Warminster to Pilrig. Both vendor and transporter sent pics, my excitement grew. News came, only ten minutes away. We went down, waited. It was a dull day, damp, the roads dark and shiny. Around the corner came a black Toyota Landcruiser. With a bright splash of jaune behind. "She's like a daffodil" said Barbara. Well, it was still Spring.
Unloaded, paid for, garaged, inspected, delighted. Driven the following day, smiles wide. The registration letters are HOY, so by rights this vehicle, now a domiciled Scot, should be called Chris. But that first comment stuck. Daffy she became. Adding a few Daffy Duck stickers confirmed the moniker.
Nine months on she's a delightful part of our lives, and I love her. She gets to go out weekly, to keep things ticking over and because... I want to. For the sheer fun of driving, and I haven't thought like that for many a year. There have been a few problems, not least with neighbours (and that's for another blog post...), but almost universally the reactions of others have been positive. Grins, kids laughing, thumbs up, questions, laughter. Even cynical mechanics converted. She brings a little joy into the lives of others (like that Audi driver) and maybe that's the best thing about her. That and my grin...
