06 Nov 07
For years I owned a chair, a faux-Bauhaus construction of tubular steel and black leather. Over time it got pushed to the corner of my living room and was rarely sat in. Eventually, when I needed the space for something else, it went.
But once it had gone, I missed it. Not because it was comfortable, or because I was particularly fussed any more about its looks, but because I belatedly realised that I had used it more than I'd realised. Not only had it hidden a dodgy spot in the room's interior decoration, it had served as a handy place to throw coats and bags. I may have barely noticed the damn thing in years, but it had actually been very useful.
And so went my relationship with the Toyota Auris: like that chair, I only really registered how I had used it once I no longer had it. It made very little impact on me on an emotional level, but once it had gone back to Toyota I realised that, funnily enough, I'd rather liked having it around.
It didn't excite me in any way, but by the same token, apart from the horrid space-sapping centre console unit that bisected the front of the cabin, it didn't irritate me too much either. It just seamlessly insinuated itself into my everyday existence.
