Review: What’s the problem with the Skoda Yeti?

Snobbery.

Or just the fact it is a Skoda.

Now I’ve driven this beast and I loved it. But before I drove it, before I got behind the wheel, I was a sceptic based purely on its parentage. Talk about prejudice! But I’m not the only one.

Only the other day I was happily chatting to a mate who said following my almost evangelical zeal in selling the Yeti to him before Christmas, he’d gone for a test drive himself. I asked how he’d liked it and he looked at me ruefully: “The problem is,” he said, “it’s a Skoda.”

Now this is just silly. There is nothing wrong with the Yeti – it’s built well, there’s great attention to detail, it’s fun to drive and it’s good value for money. I mean what is there not to like – bar the badge.

It got me thinking about snobbery in particular, brand snobbery and it’s led me to do a bit of navel gazing. And I reluctantly admit I am a brand snob - possibly even a proper snob but that’s another post.

I mean look at me! When I had to finally let go of the Land Rover Discovery, I was wet. No, I wouldn’t have a cheap car – hellloooooo! What did I mean by cheap? Ford, Peugeot, Nissan – I am sure they all have cars I could never afford in a million years. So based on nothing other than my own narrow minded perceptions I restricted my potential car pool to a few select brands I considered acceptable.

Acceptable to whom? Acceptable to the motor mechanic in me? It’s not as if I know anything about cars bar changing spark plugs, oil and making sure the water is kept topped up. I know very little about the mechanics of a car. Therefore, the acceptability has to be aesthetic – that’s like saying you’ll only be friends with people because of their looks and basically that’s pretty shallow.

But it’s more than that isn’t it? Buying a car says something about you and how you want people to think of you. You can make as many excuses as you like about car safety, because basically that is the only thing that seems to separate one car from another these days that’s of any importance. And, if you would only admit it, with such tight rules and regulation that’s a pretty weak argument.

So there we have it, buying a new car is down to what it looks like and what it says about you. DEEP huh!

I know people will stick to certain brands Ford, Land Rover, Volkswagen, BMW, Peugeot etc and, like banks will NEVER change. In fact it can get generational. There’s a bit of loyalty going on there – but heck these guys ain’t going to be loyal to you, they’ll sell their cars to anyone – honest!

It’s not as if you get a discount because you already drive a Ford and you are buying a new one – though manufacturers out there this is an INTERESTING POINT TO NOTE and you heard it here first!

If we were all thinking logically then we would opt of the cheapest car around all things being equal, but the marketers (yep you guys again) like to be divisive and have been brainwashing us the gormless public for years.

In years gone by it was because the new car really was better than at least one other model on the road but lately it’s more about a perception rather than a reality. I mean look at VW’s latest advert on the TV regarding the iconic Golf. I am not saying the Golf is not a good car it is I know I’ve got one and I love it, but is it better than say a Skoda? Is it better value for money? In this day and age that has to come tops and why I’ll probably be seriously considering a Skoda next time. (Don’t forget VW own Skoda…)

Yeti Spotting (Part Two): The Low down on the Skoda Yeti

How can I say this? On first impressions it’s ..erm…it’s...Oh heaven! This is a low down right? You want my honest opinion? Well it doesn’t look as good as it does in the pictures. But that’s my opinion. Don’t they always say beauty is in the eye of the beholder?

Like meeting famous people for the first time - aren’t they smaller in real life. The same goes for the Skoda Yeti. In those wonderful adverts it looks a heck of a lot taller, sort of Land Rover size but it’s not. In fact at 5’3” I felt pretty tall next door to it, which is great when it comes to being able to reach the tail gate, though they have one of those strap things for that which you can get really clever with and swing it shut all in one move. Definitely cool but I reckon you could get caught out if you slam the door down on your Dog's tail –sorry it’s the sort of thing I would do! I’ll amend that, not so clever if you caught the hem of your dress then tried to walk away ripping it and then exposing yourself to innocent passers by in the supermarket car park.

However, you’ve got to get my frame of reference with regard to the Yeti. I am currently having a high old time with the Silver Dream Machine a VW Golf Estate Bluemotion and still grieving for my beloved Dora, my Land Rover Discovery; she was quite simply perfect. The sort of perfect that even though she cost me more than I could ever really afford, I would regularly brush that annoying fact under the carpet along with all the other bills I didn’t wish to see.

Dora was stately, she was a Grand Duchess, she had presence – the Yeti is just very nice, and sort of friendly and cuddly and all the things that go with it. A sort of eager personality whose name you keep forgetting.

However once inside you pretty much revise your opinion. It still isn’t pretty but it’s big and dare I say it, it is more comfortable than my old lady ever was. I can say that now as Dora no longer exists so won’t have any hurt feelings, though I feel a tad guilty one really shouldn’t speak ill of the dead or even scrapped.

The Yeti seems vast thanks to the incredible amount of headroom. Clever design details make it seem as if there is oceans of space when in fact it’s not much bigger than a VW Golf.

You sit incredibly upright in the front seat and that coupled with the fact that the pillars are offset on the windscreen compared to the Golf and Land Rover Discovery (Series I) means you feel a bit vulnerable and disconcerted sitting there even though the visibility is fantastic.

The back seats seemed a bit small and it was really tricky to put the Graco child seats in without having to haul them to one side to find the seat belt plug.

Could you put three of them (children not car seats) in the back - that would be cosy. I mean Dora the Disco was 1496mm wide and it was close encounters on the back seat in her, so with the Yeti being 1437mm across the rear it would definitely be squash and a squeeze!

Couldn’t say much about the drive as I could only go at 18mph tops and it would not have been appreciated if I took it off road. Not that the lovely people at Skoda would have minded but I daresay the park keepers at Woburn Safari Park would have been less than amused and for that matter so would the animals.

I didn’t get to play with it as much as I wanted though I was shown some great things to do with the rear seats when I get my hands on a Yeti of my own to toy with for a week in December.

I am now planning a whole host of things to do and the goodly people at Skoda are even going to add a tow bar so I can really see if I have found a worthy successor to Dora.

Pic shows: Getting familiar with a Yeti in a yeti!

Boden Girl: Quality counts...

I’ve been given a back handed compliment, one as I sit here I am NOT enjoying – but are you ever meant to? No of course not. For you see I am being picked on this time because of my name and certain attributes are being applied to me regardless of their veracity.
I am a Boden-Blogger. A named Boden Blogger. Fair enough I like Boden. I like the clothes. I aspire to wear the clothes. Unfortunately I am far too ungainly, unsophisticated and fat for the clothes and frankly I cannot afford them. But hey! How many women who read Vogue can actually aspire to wear the clothes let alone look good in them?
I admit I have blogged about Boden. I admit I have envied those who wear Boden. But only in the case of a wistful longing to be as stylish, sophisticated, fashionable and well turned out as those who do. Doesn’t every woman yearn for those things from time to time?
I am being portrayed by the Times and in particular by columnist Kate Muir as a fluffy airhead wannabe who makes token gestures to the latest fashionable cause in the wake of the trend setters portrayed in the society columns of the really smart tabloids such as the Telegraph, the Times and Saturday’s How to Spend it magazines.
I am the excluded deluded middle class neither one thing nor the other. Considered a fool because of my innate sense of fair play, taken advantage of as I allow others their say first, derided for my “posh” accent and old-fashioned manners.
And I am deeply offended. My secret is out. I have NEVER worn Boden. How on earth will I hold my head up high when I get back on the school run?
Isn’t it bad enough that I cannot afford a new Land Rover? Actually I cannot afford a new car full stop. Bugger the carbon footprint the damn thing is still roadworthy ergo I drive it. A simple cost analysis reckoned that it would be cheaper for me to carry on driving the gas guzzling death trap for the next ten years than to buy the latest eco car and that even factored in diesel at £2 a litre!
As for travelling abroad – wot???!!! Have you seen our mortgage?!!! Yurt! Please – I have a lovely Kyham Classic XXL as recommended in Good Housekeeping. Saved a fortune at a friend’s Fortieth the other month.
And would you like to know what I am wearing now? A pair of rapidly disintegrating Wrangler jeans - boot cut 'cos Hell I have to try to balance out somethings in my life - a vintage (well it was bought in 1993) navy blue Benetton polo shirt with bird poo effect white paint splotches and the biggest secret of all – matching bra and panties from Rigby & Peller still going strong some three years on…quality counts you know.

The trials and tribulations of a would be Yummie

....who would much prefer to stay in last week’s jeans and watch bugs!
So there am I on a glorious sunny Sunday afternoon hoovering all the dog hairs out of my decrepit Landrover Discovery. I have a 4x4 and I am proud of it – it is now a teenager, it rusts and the only reason I drive it is so that I can peer regally out of it into my neighbours’ front rooms. And as Roger kindly reminds me it was free.
So my whole argument for driving this gas guzzling, rust bucket is that I prefer to view life from the top and that I didn’t have to pay for it – well quite!
On that basis why the heck am I so concerned about its appearance? Well it’s the start of the school term! Obvious isn’t it. I’m supposed to be a Yummy Mummy. Everyone’s cars are immaculate – it does help that they are actually brand new while mine has been ‘off’ and well passed its sell by date for years. So I clean it internally, then set about washing, buffing and polishing it on the outside, knowing full well that as soon as I finish the chickens will be gallivanting along the top of it and sliding down the windscreen ‘cos it’s fun, the turtle dove in the barn will decide that going outside is far to much of a bother and knows I will understand because it has got eggs and really can’t be forced outside - not now!
Dust will blow and to be honest anyone looking at her from the outside will never know or even comprehend the time spent trying to get her up to mustard just for a school run at sparrow’s fart on Monday morning.
Luckily for me the school run is put off for 24 hours as The Boy is violently ill all over my antique black and pink paisley eiderdown (a family heirloom and one I have coveted for many years. Just my luck that as soon as I get my sticky paws on it that that would happen.)
Tuesday dawns: now I am concerned about my apparel; however with a raging temperature and slightly high on The Boy’s Calpol I toss these societal bagatelles to one side and am deliberately late to school thus avoiding condemnation – but that is not the way to carry on and sooner or later the inevitable will have to be faced.
So today I find myself sniffing my clothes – a sure fire freshness test because frankly I do not want to have to go to the bother of having to wear clean jeans or a brand new clean shirt if I can possibly avoid it, but guilt, horror, peer pressure prevails and I land up changing three times and going up and down stairs so many times to change my shoes that I feel like a Jack in the box and all before 7am!
I do not go as far as plying myself with makeup, doing my nails or bouffing up my hair - come on I am not a professional after all. So semi clean car – cos the dog did land up being sick in it after my meandering return the previous day and I haven’t quite got round to clearing it out – semi clean me, one Boy and one baby and a small terrorist who has promised not to be sick. We set off in good time to enter the fray.
The school is some 15 miles away set in beautifully manicured grounds; huge oaks to climb in, fabulous area to get lost in and all safe – after all THAT is why we pay for it. And then there is the long sylvan drive to the car park where all the other Yummy Mummies are present and correct – and try as I might I am always late and it is always chaos for us. We have to drive past all the other Yummies perched in their fabulous, glistening, clean Range Rovers, VWs, Audis, Mercedes, donned head to toe in Boden/Gap/LK Bennet splendour. Beautifully accessorised. And am I jealous? Am I envious? – For a minute YOU BET! Then to be honest I think hard about what I have done to get here and do I really care? No ‘cos it’s much too much like hard work and my biggest thrill of the day, outside my boys, was finding a newly hatched Holly Blue in the garden. Its wings iridescent blue in the sunlight and I marvelled at it. So delicate, so perfect - something I will never be and frankly just can’t be bothered to be but there is still that niggling doubt that I should be…so I will change umpteen times, clean the car and try and try to be grown up like the rest of them. It’s all a bit Stepford isn’t it?