Silvery blue
My late car (now posing sadly on the side of the road near the mechanic's workshop with a 'For Sale' sign and battered come hither look) had many failings, but one of the most grievous, in my view, was that it was more or less colourless. And by colourless I don't mean white, I mean a hue so bland and indeterminate I dreaded being asked what colour it was, because you have to call it *something* and there is seriously no name for it. Except in the manual, which refers to it as "Dune".
Now, if it was the colour of actual sand, this might have made my life easier. I could have answered "sand-coloured", and the person on the other end would say "Oh, you mean a sort of dull light yellow then?" and I could answer "Yes" and feel reasonably confident that they'd identify it. Thing is, it wasn't a dull light yellow. It was kind of equidistant between silver, yellowish beige and light greyish green, so equidistant that giving any one of those colours as my answer would mislead.
Not the car for a chromaphile, I can tell you.
For my new* steed, therefore, I was adamant that I wanted a car with a definite colour. Not a dark colour - the current fashion for tarmac grey has always struck me as madness (for the discreet motorist, who likes their car in road-coloured camouflage gear!) - but not white, either. My first two cars were white, my parents' car is white, and frankly, it's all a bit too chaste and unenterprising.
Happily, I ended up procuring myself a vehicle in a lovely shimmery silvery blue. My mechanic's mockery of me was loud and long for being 'such a girl' about choosing it over a slightly newer white rival, but I shrugged off his jovial chauvinism and informed him that morale is important, and a car in a good colour is a daily morale booster. Then there was Maurice, the car dealership finance guy.
Maurice the finance guy (looking at the suburb on my address): Nice. Whereabouts are you, down near the Strand somewhere? (the Strand = esplanade lined with gigantic beach front mansions that start at about 1.8 million)
Me: Ahahahaa. Um, Maurice. If I lived down near the Strand somewhere, would you be selling me an eleven grand Corolla?
Maurice the finance guy: (...) Fair point.
I'm not sure that's definitely true, mind. The whole car-as-status-symbol thing is utterly lost on me. Even if I was rich enough to live near or on the Strand, I don't know that I'd be driving anything too much flashier.
*New being a relative term, of course. It is, in fact, a seven year old car, which is still the closest to a new car I've ever bought...
Now, if it was the colour of actual sand, this might have made my life easier. I could have answered "sand-coloured", and the person on the other end would say "Oh, you mean a sort of dull light yellow then?" and I could answer "Yes" and feel reasonably confident that they'd identify it. Thing is, it wasn't a dull light yellow. It was kind of equidistant between silver, yellowish beige and light greyish green, so equidistant that giving any one of those colours as my answer would mislead.
Not the car for a chromaphile, I can tell you.
For my new* steed, therefore, I was adamant that I wanted a car with a definite colour. Not a dark colour - the current fashion for tarmac grey has always struck me as madness (for the discreet motorist, who likes their car in road-coloured camouflage gear!) - but not white, either. My first two cars were white, my parents' car is white, and frankly, it's all a bit too chaste and unenterprising.
Happily, I ended up procuring myself a vehicle in a lovely shimmery silvery blue. My mechanic's mockery of me was loud and long for being 'such a girl' about choosing it over a slightly newer white rival, but I shrugged off his jovial chauvinism and informed him that morale is important, and a car in a good colour is a daily morale booster. Then there was Maurice, the car dealership finance guy.
Maurice the finance guy (looking at the suburb on my address): Nice. Whereabouts are you, down near the Strand somewhere? (the Strand = esplanade lined with gigantic beach front mansions that start at about 1.8 million)
Me: Ahahahaa. Um, Maurice. If I lived down near the Strand somewhere, would you be selling me an eleven grand Corolla?
Maurice the finance guy: (...) Fair point.
I'm not sure that's definitely true, mind. The whole car-as-status-symbol thing is utterly lost on me. Even if I was rich enough to live near or on the Strand, I don't know that I'd be driving anything too much flashier.
*New being a relative term, of course. It is, in fact, a seven year old car, which is still the closest to a new car I've ever bought...