Shed has come up with a whizz-bang plan for de-stressing life on the road. The first part of it requires manufacturers to name their models more accurately, in order to express the sort of car that they are, or the market at which they are aimed. Motorists, for their part, would then be required by law to drive the cars whose names best reflected their personalities or the type of motoring that they intended to do.
The Honda Retirement. The BMW Superiority Complex. The Volvo Sundaytip. The Lotus Spin. The Kia Apology. The Skoda Simper. The Audi Arse. The Mercedes-Benz Indifference, with three specification levels - Mild, Lofty, and Supreme. You get the idea.
This plan would permit road users to predict, with some degree of accuracy, the likely reaction to any dodgy moves they might wish to execute. How much more relaxing would it be to know that the bold-verging-on-dangerous overtake you're mentally toying with is unlikely to be met by anything more aggressive than a limp wave and a wan smile, based on the Nissan Narcosis or Mazda Nice in front? On the other side, who in their right mind would barge their way past anyone driving an Isuzu Psychopath or a Range Rover Schoolrun?
Just think of it. No more missed carve-up opportunities on that two-lanes-going-down-to-one stretch of dual carriageway. No more Glasgow kisses by the last space in the supermarket car park. You'd know exactly who to take on and who to leave well alone just by looking at the boot badge. Honesty would be a key aspect of this brave new naming protocol, of course. The shady practice of grafting exciting names onto boring cars would be forbidden by law.
Which brings us to the Mitsubishi Carisma. A pal of Shed's had one of these. From getting in it to getting out, Shed's single abiding memory was the cheapskate gap between the seat base and seat back, which forced rear-seat passengers to view an oddly compressed, hairy and, thanks to car's terrible handling, usually sweaty section of his mate's buttocks.
There is nothing good to be said about the Carisma you are currently wincing at. Last year's MOT tester certainly found quite a bit of bad to say, though, mainly around its rotting rear end and failing suspension. Even sound Carismas are to be avoided like the plague that we are all trying to dodge at the moment, if you have even the vaguest interest in motoring pleasure.
This particular car will be even worse than Shed's pal's, which did at least have the decency to be powered by a petrol engine. This one is a diesel. Add in the near full-length scraping of the nearside bodywork (I'm having a crash, er, oh well, I've started now so I might as well finish) and the only thing detracting from its strong claim to be the worst car ever is the highly unusual 'yes please!' ticking of the leather upholstery option box. You can just imagine the strained look on the fleet manager's face as he grudgingly approved that one.
Even the trade vendor has given up on the impossible prospect of doing this car justice, choosing instead to enter this single enigmatic phrase in the description: 'Reference 10478260'. Crueller types than Shed will recognise this as the number of reasons why you shouldn't buy this car.
Why are we featuring it in Shed of the Week then, you cry? Partly to satisfy one or two readers who have been complaining about the constant stream of nice motors that people will insist on advertising in the PH Classifieds. A munter every now and again helps to bring a little perspective.
Shed wishes to assure his readers that he remains on a constant lookout for another Rover Chairman but until such time as that comes around he hopes that this amusingly priced Matsubashy - MOT due next month, good luck with that - will fulfil the expectations of those who believe that a shed really should be a shed.
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