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A scrummy little car from Sweden

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Guest reviewer XANDRIA BISKER-FISCKER of the GIN SOAKED MUMMY BLOG tests the Volvo XC40

Well the seasonal season is just about upon us and what shiny gift should I find upon our drive than this scrummy little car from Sweden (I think). It’s called a Volvo XT40 and I for one think it looks absolutely gorge! We’re quite a Volvo fam actually, ignoring The Husband’s Rangie and that grey thing the nanny uses, as we’ve had several of their Ecstasy 90s. I’ve actually lost count of how many we’ve had since Hermonia (a.k.a Daughto Uno) was born 12 years ago. I actually asked El Hubbo the number we’ve got through in that time but he misunderstood and quipped, “Jesus fucking Christ, Xan, you’ve not binned another one have you?!” and then said he had to go because he’s in Paris again and the time difference makes it hard to get hold of him or his PA at the moment!

Daddy also used to have Volvos back in the old days and I can still remember us kids all crammed in the back as we headed down to the French house for the summer. I’ll never forget the time when Hugo (a.k.a. Big Bro) puked on Euphonia (a.k.a. Big Sis 1) and Hydrangia (a.k.a Grand Souer Deux), and I got SUCH a fit of giggles at the frightful mess and pong that I simply couldn’t stop even when mummy got in one of her tempers and shouted at me that I was a “ghastly mistake”! Happy times in that big old Volvo! It was a blue one that we nicknamed “Gertrude” after our beloved great aunt who, like the car, was large and redoubtable, although of course the car didn’t later turn out to have a huge collection of Nazi memorabilia!

All those summer hols crammed into Gertrude (the car, not the late great aunt whose estate is still frozen for various reasons!) is probably why I became a Volv driver too, although not so much of the driving at the moment for yours truly. It’s all so bloody silly and really what’s the point in paying a lawyer if they’re STILL going to insist that a “drink driving ban” DOESN’T mean you’re fine to keep driving as long as you don’t drink? It’s super ridic!

Anyhoo, obvs I was super miz not to be able to drive the little 40XT as it sat there on the drive looking all cute and small, but with the Xmas party season in full swing I did have to pop out to see ‘Doctor’ Dave at the back of the grotty shopping centre in Shepherd’s Bush for some of mummy’s special medicine so I got the nanny (Szzzzzvizzz?) to drive me because Hermonia and Filibus aren’t back from boarding school until Thursday, and Alouette and Porchetta (a.k.a. the terrible twins) are at nursery or school or whatever 7 year olds do at the moment so the lazy moo can earn her keep, right?! I shouldn’t joke as we’re terribly worried that this whole Brexit thing will mean she has to go back to Poland or this “Bulgaria” place she claims to be from. Daddy says not to worry because it’ll do the whole country good and just to be on the safe side he’s moved all his investment funds to Ireland but, hey, a woman is allowed to worry about losing the help and also supplies of the belle vin du France (et aussi Italia mais ne pas Germanie). Yours truly is a fine one to talk as I forgot to vote in the bloody referendum on account of being in bloody New York at Catatonia Trombaniste’s gallery opening. Silly me!

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, my trip out in the funny little Volvo X4T with Svezzzzzgnr at the wheel conducting matters in her usual sullen way, though I must confess she never fails to impress with her driving which never seems to mount the pavement or prompt that awful bang sound that always makes other drivers so angry. I really don’t know how she does it! Personally, I found the inside dashboard of the little Volv to be absolutely swish and all the buttons and levers and whathaveyou were very dinky and nice. I couldn’t complain about the engine acceleration either as we completed my little errand in record time and were back in Holland Park in time for my hot swimming class and then on to the opening of Amarilla Blandford-Goering’s pop-up ironic Christmas jumper shop in Notty Hill. Bravo Volvo, you brave little hatchback thing! I could have stayed in the shop all day, not least because Ams had laid on lashings on mulled vino but alas I had to fly, not least because her ghastly mother told me I had “enough” and was a “disgrace”! Fortunately, Szzzzvizzzzer was awaiting outside in the XV4C which was looking cuter by the minute in its splendid paintwork, though it’s rather smaller than I would like and white wouldn’t be my first choice. In general I like my cars like my gardening staff; massive and black.

After the shop opening the snazzy little Volly whisked me down to Chollo’s for an early lunch assignation with the lovely Arrannabella Gstaadabaaden ( and the always-delightful Mipsy Hollingby-Frigg ( and who should we bump into but the marvellous Bippy Swaylesbrighton ( and everything was rather jolly even when bloody Ssszvzxzvxx rang to say it had been “five hours” and she was taking the Volv to get the twins from after-school club or whatever it’s bloody called. Honestly, you can’t get the staff!! Plus ca change et deux autres bouteilles de vin rosé s’il vous plait!!!

Overall I was mucho impressedo with the little Volvo and I would definitely think about one as a second or third car if I was quite poor. It’s lovely looking and full of snazzy labour saving gadgets, although I’d like to see if any of them can make your bloody husband come home as now apparently he’s spending Christmas in the Klosters place without us “entertaining clients” as per bloody uszh and honestly he probably sees his bloody PA more than his own children and what are we going to do on the 25th, eat a bloody frozen turkey like bloody working class people because I’m certainly not going to face mummy at the moment, not after that bloody debate about who does or doesn’t have “dignity” which was just so bloody unfair just because one police officer finds you slumped in the front bloody garden with no knickers on at 3am and whose bloody business is that and it’s just all a bloody mess and Markson’s say they can’t deliver that many cases of rosé before Christmas and why can’t I stop crying all the time? So there we are, full marks to Vulvo!!!!