When we needed a new family car, I insisted on the Kia Sportage. My friend Charlotte leant me her Which? website password, I part-exchanged my erratic Volvo XC40 and a lovely Kia Sportage duly arrived. Of course, I immediately whizzed off to one of my favourite places in the world: Brent Cross Shopping Centre. I fantasised about all the things from John Lewis that I was going to toss into the Kia’s spacious boot.
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But my daydreams were interrupted by an unexpected cacophony of noises from the car. Bleep… bleep… bleep! Ping! Plink! Plink-plink! Wonnngggg! It was even worse than my old erratic Volvo, which was constantly shrieking at me to mind that car, when there was no car, and occasionally wrenching the steering wheel from my hand.
The Kia Sportage is worse. It’s as if it has been designed by an extremely nervous aunt who had a small prang in 1992 thereby setting her nerves off. What this car-designing aunt would most like is for no one to ever get in a car again. But if they must, it would be best if the car whistled and beeped and went ‘Plink’ every three seconds. ‘Plink!’ said the Kia. ‘Plink! Plink!’
