Yesterday was my last day at CacheLogic. I had a good offer from Siemens Business Services and I will start there next week.

I like to get on with things with a minimum of fuss – I believe the buzzword-compliant term for this is I have a “no bullshit policy” – so it was good to be able to get through my final day without too much drama.

I was saved from people coming over to wish me good riddance by HR, who declined to send a formal announcement of my resignation. I didn’t have to bear the embarrassment of reading aloud a farewell card to gathered colleagues because the company didn’t organise one. And I would have been uncomfortable if they had insisted on collecting money for a gift.

I was concerned that my timely departure from the office would be interrupted by an exit interview; luckily that didn’t happen. Most important of all I was spared what might have been a tearful goodbye as I reflected on eighteen months of hard work and dedication. Realising how emotional I would have become, the company decided against shaking my hand and seeing me to the door.

Do you ask what is the MPH of this car?

Do you ask what Mbps of this network?

Do you ask what is the joules per coulomb of this lightbulb?

No.

So why do you insist on asking what is the FPS of this game?

Today was the first time I saw my parents since I bought my Lotus Elise in December. It was a lovely sunny day and they were both looking forward to seeing the car and going for a drive.

In their earlier days my parents owned an MGB when it was the latest and greatest thing so I was sure they’d understand my decision to buy a light and nimble sports car for the sole purpose of enjoying driving. When you’re 17 years old driving is cool because it’s what adults do and it’s fun. Then you drive to work every day for a few years and it becomes a necessary evil. I’ve always lived within walking or public transport distance of my work and never owned my own car. I wanted something that would remind me of how I used to enjoy driving rather than let me in on what everyone else feels about their daily commute. Hence the Elise.

I took them both for a drive around the same route. Some fast corners, a few slow villages high streets and some fun twisty bits. My father drew the short straw as we got stuck behind a few sheds on his run whereas my mother saw the road mostly clear of traffic and we managed to get up to speed. They both asked more or less the same questions along the way. Why that car? Is it fun? How much was the insurance? The technical specs. My father couldn’t believe it only has a 1.8l engine and puts out 118bhp. That power goes a long way in a small, light car.

Surprisingly, they both turned down the invitation to get behind the wheel although my father really had to force himself to say no and he did note that swapping seats might make it easier for him to exit the vehicle once we arrived back home. He has arthritis in his left leg so manoeuvring himself into the passenger side was a struggle. In contrast my mother surprised me when, despite her protestations of it being too low and impossible to enter, she was in and out without too much bother.

We all had a splendid time and, as I knew they would, my parents absolutely understood my motivation for buying such a lovely car.