In February 2020 my wife and I, plus cat, moved to the UK. A month prior I made a fleeting visit to rent a house and buy a car.
The car buying task came first, because I needed it to drive to Northumberland to find a house; so the day after I arrived in the UK I slumped, jet lagged and exhausted, in my son’s car and we went car shopping.
My normal approach to purchasing anything is to conduct days, sometimes weeks, of research before finally deciding upon, for example, an electric tooth brush.
But this wasn’t normal, so within the hour we had visited a garage, test driven a likely candidate and paid a deposit. Job done.
It could have been a disaster, but it (a Hyundai iX20) served us well for six years and we had no plans to change it.
Then came cancer, and with it a logistics problem. I would have to attend radiotherapy for 20 consecutive weekdays in Newcastle, there was no practical way of getting to the hospital without a car, and my wife needed the car for work on some of those days. We needed a second car.
The obvious solution was to buy something reliable and cheap, run it for a month and then sell it for what we paid for it. We set a budget of £2,500.
To maximise the chance of our purchase being reliable for a month and not depositing oil and engine components on the drive, I listed cars with a reasonable reputation for reliability and off we went.
The first candidate was a Volkswagen Polo. It was apparently in excellent condition and offered a “recent full valet” which of course is important when you are dropping a couple of grand on a car. Or you could just clean it yourself…
It was more than an hour away in Darlington, home to an excellent railway museum and now, apparently, a sparkling clean Polo. The location of the seller wasn’t obviously a car sales outlet, just a small unit in a nondescript industrial estate, Frantic hammering from inside the unit indicated occupancy and Dave, for that was his name, eventually emerged, oiled and sweaty but not in an erotic way, to start his sales pitch. “Had a recent valet” he proudly announced, pointing to a rather sad car covered in dust and bird shit. Perhaps he meant inside. He didn’t. If there had been any cleaning taking place, they had used a cleaner with the aroma “Piss and Despair” (copyright Autoglym).
He passed me the key, “lovely runner” he promised. I turned the key. There was a click, but no running. I turned it again, another click and the smell changed to piss, despair and electrical fire.
Dave, who was now sweating more profusely, opened the bonnet. Among the shower of dust and bird poo we could see the alternator smoking. “It’s seized” Dave told us helpfully, visualising how he might be able to free it with his hammer. “I’ll get it fixed, and cleaned again, when can you come back?”
Next was a trip to Newcastle to examine a Toyota Aygo courtesy of Facebook marketplace which is never a scam. We had an address and sure enough there was an Aygo parked outside. I messaged the seller, expecting him to come out of the house, but instead he arrived some five minutes later from an unknown location. First red flag.
A careful inspection by me revealed no faults with the car. A cursory inspection by my wife indicated that there was a leak in the roof and the headlining was sodden. Out of politeness I asked to view the V5 ownership document. The name and the address of the owner had been scrubbed out with black pen. Why?
“The car belongs to my brother and he prefers to remain anonymous”. Which is Marketplace speak for this car is stolen, has outstanding finance and I need rid of it quickly.
Next was a Fiat 500, also touted as being in excellent condition, and so it seemed to be; until I enquired about the service record. It didn’t have one; somewhat concerning for a car that was overdue for an expensive timing belt replacement.
“Has the car been serviced?”
“Oh yes, the local garage has serviced it every year for the past six years”.
“Can I see the invoices?”
“ I never bothered with those, just paid cash.”
“How about stamps in the service record?”
“Never bothered.”
I didn’t bother wasting any more time on a soon to disintegrate Fiat 500.
There were more; each either mechanically or legally suspect; all a complete waste of time. We decided to change tactics and look more upmarket. This did not go well either.
To be continued.
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