13 Dec 06
The thing is, the black R-Class has a very smart, very pale grey interior. And both interior and exterior finishes are somewhat at odds with the particular flavour of mud we suffer from in this part of the world. Never mind the fact that a black car never looks good unless spotless, which comes under the fat chance category in December: what really embarrasses me is what the children's feet have done to the interior.
Both child seats - booster and toddler - have a seat base somewhat shorter than the grown-up cushion on which they sit, and something big and pink will shoot past the window before their occupants can be persuaded not to put their feet on the remaining ledge. The resultant carnage of upholstery encrustation makes me wince every time I open the door.
Discretion may be the better part of velour, but children are the single strongest case in favour of the wipe-clean properties of black leather upholstery that I can conjure.
On a happier note, this replacement R-Class does boast one or two options not fitted to our own car. And, although old-fashioned values dictate that I-Spy and truly dreadful singing tend to hold sway over a Shrek 2 DVD on long-haul outings, we have seriously treasured an automatic tailgate that can be opened from the key fob and closed at the touch of a mud-free button on the bottom of the door itself.
Trouble is, on pain of tantrum, the children insist on pressing this button, but can't reach. And the last time I hoisted one of them up, he was freshly returned from a lavish excursion through what, judging by the quantity, I can only assume to have been Great Dane poo. Let's just take it as read that the resultant dry-cleaning bill for my jacket and the vigorous scouring my, erm, Commando-camouflaged face received at the hands of my wife armed with a box of unscented, pop-up 'Wet Ones' is pre-emptive payback for state of the velour. One-all.
