‘Like an addict searching for a fix, I’m going crazy looking for a new car’

From a Park Lane showroom to a day out at Car Giant – including a late-night recce of all the electric charging points in her borough – Charlotte Cripps must have transport

I was in the bath when the door bell chimed and my neighbour told me that somebody had driven into the back of my clapped out VW Golf car and then rebounded into his brand new BMW. Luckily, nobody was hurt and it turned out that I knew the driver who had crashed into both cars. “I know you,” she says. “Your dog is Muggles. Mine is called Benji.”

But it doesn’t make it any easier that we know each other from the local park and my car is deemed a write-off. I am offered £2,345 for it, which is an absolute miracle considering the state of it and I sign over ownership to a scrap yard. My brother is trying to get rid of his wife’s very old BMW estate. It was the right price but it is diesel – so by October 2020, I would be charged £12 a day to have it parked outside my west London flat.

How about a new car? They are so much more reliable, I say to myself. I start scouring the internet. It’s Thursday and everything remains a blur until Sunday while, like an addict looking for a fix, I stumble from one website to another, analysing the spec and engine size of new cars. I’m still fantasising about new cars when, from the bus window, I spot the Park Lane BMW showroom. I’ve forgotten my bank card, but I decide to get off to do a bit of window shopping with the kids. Yes, I have champagne tastes and a lemonade budget but I rather fancy a free gourmet coffee – and it is not like I don’t genuinely need a car. It might give me some ideas!

Gosh look at that BMW X1 – I love these cars! Here we go again, I am away with the fairies, lost in some mythical bubble where I actually believe I am a wealthy yummy mummy cruising to the shops in an SUV, with white leather interior and personalised number plates? Jesus what is happening to me? The Notting Hill effect?

Next thing I know I’m being shovelled into a BMW X3 – with a white interior. I didn’t even register what was going on as I fell deeper into the rabbit hole – now contemplating buying it on hire purchase. I couldn’t take the car on a test drive because I had the kids and no car seats. Suddenly, I was hit by a bolt of sanity and I rang my brother for advice – “Don’t ever buy a new car,” he said. “It loses £3,000 as soon as you drive it out of the showroom.”

The next day, I decide to take Lola and Liberty to Car Giant, up the road in Scrubs Lane, where we end up having a lovely day out, complete with a picnic, in the waiting room. I’m killing two birds with one stone. I am given a key to a Mitsubishi Outlander Phev. By this point I have realised a hybrid car is the only car worth getting – so best friend Mel tells me – as it runs on petrol and electricity. Electricity is the future. Or so we think right now.

But when I get to the car with the baby and Lola, I don’t know what to do with them? I have no car seat to strap the baby into and every time I get into the driving seat to check the car out, Liberty, who is outside in her pram, thinks I am abandoning her and starts crying. Lola has climbed into the back and nearly traps her finger in the door. There is nobody to help me. It costs £14,500 and they are suggesting I take out PCP? What the hell is that? I google it but all I can see is Angel Dust. I feel like I am on it – I want to smash my fist through the Mitsubishi window. It says that it also makes you feel quite mad – just like I’m feeling. Taking out PCP though would an added financial burden each month, but I need a new car.

PCP? What the hell is that? I google it but all I can see is Angel Dust. I feel like I am on it – I want to smash my fist through the Mitsubishi window

When we get home, I get out Alex’s old calculator he used when he was managing design and build projects. Could I afford the monthly repayments and how would I pay off the balloon payment at the end? They try and con me into getting a three-year warranty that doesn’t cover wear and tear. I imagine all the electrical faults that can go wrong with a Japanese car like this?

I get home and ask the girl who helps me walk Muggles, who is in Narcotics Anonymous, if she can look after the kids while I test drive the Mitsubishi at Car Giant the next day. But she has been bitten by a dog and says she seems to have relapsed on pain killers. I tell her she needs to get back on track – even if it is for Muggles’s sake: I rely on her, he loves her, he’s happy to leave my side and go off with her – even if I’m there. She assures me that I need not worry. I think she is talking about the relapse – but no, she’s telling me I don’t need to be jealous of Muggles’s love for her, and says that whenever the dog sees a blonde woman in the park – he perks up and runs overthinking it is me.

That night I become obsessed with finding out where all the electric charging bays are located in Kensington and Chelsea. They are dotted everywhere and 77 more are being rolled out as we speak. I note down the location of two in the next street and drag the now totally exhausted kids down the road to find them. This is just one of the many problems with being a single parent – you can’t do anything when your nanny/ relative leaves. I don’t like the idea of spending money on a second-hand car anyway that might breakdown or have some major problem.

Did I actually believe I was a wealthy yummy mummy, cruising to the shops in an SUV, complete with white leather interior and personalised number plates?

I start searching again online to see if I can get a new Mitsubishi Outlander Phev but it is £36,000. I am going mad. I end up on the VW website and find a great deal – a new VW SUV – on PCP. So the next day I push the kids out of the door and end up in the Finchley Road at the car showroom.

Liberty is crawling around the car park as I desperately try to explain to my dad that I have had an idea – but he can’t hear me as his iPhone volume is turned down too low. He is saying calmly, “Are you there”, “hello”, “Are you there?” down the phone. I start screaming at the top of my voice: “Dad turn your volume up on the side of your phone.” The car salesman is babysitting the kids.

I try to call him at home but his landline volume is notoriously bad. “Hello, hello, hello,” I can hear him say. It feels like I’m trying to contact a soldier on a submarine in the Second World War. “Dad can you hear me?” “Yes,” he says. “So why do you keep saying hello then?” “I couldn’t hear you,” he says. “Call me on my mobile.” And then I try to shout quickly so he hears me before he puts the phone down that he needs to turn the volume of his mobile up, but it’s too late.

I wanted to ask him to take out the PCP deal himself. That way if anything were to go wrong and I couldn’t pay the monthly repayments, he would protect me from being blacklisted on my credit score – and I could pay him back every month. It was a bit far fetched and I’m sure it’s not allowed anyway but I had gone past the point of desperation.

I was back to square one: no car, no help in sight, and a giant forecourt with two kids who are losing the will to live. “Cons are down,” so Mel tells me. “It is Mercury Retrograde – never to do anything important during a retrograde cycle – especially not signing any contracts.”

By this point, I’m so fed up with getting a car that I decide to leave it and get the bus.