Andrex Extra Soft Blog Roll

It's all a load of bollocks, quite frankly

The Dealership

The Apprentice Lad's bicycle, parked correctly

The Apprentice Lad’s bicycle, parked correctly

I’ve not seen this programme The Dealership. Apparently it’s a fly on the wall documentary about a, erm, dealership. Even though I haven’t watched it I think it should have been filmed at the garage I used to work at.  In fact I remember the salesman saying it would be a fantastic idea to make a fly on the wall documentary about where we worked. I think the best way of describing what the experience may have been like can be summed up in one word: unique.

We were a main franchised dealership for Fiat and Alfa Romeo. I no longer work there and since the dealership no longer holds the franchise. Some of the people I worked with were great, some not so. I’ve focused in on the people who I liked (except the General Manager), and the rather amusing anecdotes. Most of the recollections are “you should have been there” moments, but alas none of you were so I’ll have to tell them.

Day one at the dealership: Tall lanky salesman (who is a top bloke) says “Weellllll, what a load of old shit. What a fucking liberty” as a customer pulls up. I, the service manager, shares same level of enthusiasm and says “what does this prick want now.” On the same day, a second person turns up wanting to do something strange such as buying a car. Prospective customer number one sees the tall lanky one and is sold a car instantly because the customer has interrupted his online Scrabble game. Prospective customer number two makes the fatal mistake of dealing with the sort, dumpy one (General Manager – likes to tell many many tales of rallying, hearing aids and SAGA holidays. In fact, he used to rally hearing aids) drives in an Alfa 156 and leaves in a hearse. Post mortem later revealed customer died of boredom upon listening to stories of rallying, hearing aids and SAGA holidays. His Alfa 156 is in the customer parking spot for so long, it takes up root in the tarmac. (Some poetic licence in this bit, obviously. He hated SAGA holidays)

Day two:  Our beloved Jaguar XK140, one of the many classics for sale, is sold. The new owner, who was rallied by the General Manager, paid cash and like most people had a part exchange which were, unlike most part exchanges, an old tractor and ride on lawn mower. The lawn mower was taken on by someone who “used to rally lawnmowers” and the tractor served its purpose as a backup rally vehicle, after being fitted with a souped-up A+ Series engine from a 1983 MG Metro, the front brakes from a Ford Granada and the indicator stalk from a Peugeot 104.

Day three: Owner’s son shouts at the back my chair (I’m not there because I’m on annual leave): “Yoooouuuuu! You’re going down the road when you get back!” Our Welsh Mechanic stumbles home to his caravan, falls through a hedge into a stream. General Manager says “Oh my!” a lot

Day four: The owner’s son chases the trainee salesman, known to everyone as Ginger Tosser, around the premises with an air rifle. Can’t say I blame him as he really was a tosser. And ginger. Later on, Police are called to arrest a man for and it takes three to take the owner’s son down. General Manager used to rally Police cars, it turns out.

Day five: Chief mechanic, MoT tester and Mexican Freddie Mercury impersonator says to the Ginger Tosser sales trainee “ah well, at the end of the day, in all fairness I’m going to lock you in the fucking boot of that car.” And he did, good man. Chief mechanic glued radio dial onto Classic FM to stop people changing the radio station. Rebuild on Twin Spark engine interrupted by me talking in his voice to him, and the YTS lad speaking to Welsh Mechanic in his voice. Told many, many stories on how “I used to rally Datsun 120Ys” other enlightening rally stories by General Manager. I fall asleep for a while. Before falling asleep, we all talk to General Manager in his voice, because he used to rally it.

Day six: This day didn’t happen as I was still asleep from the rallying stories. Oh, wait, hang on… The owner’s son used to wash the cars and sometimes had to scratch “himself”. Police were called to investigate a man “masturbating into a bucket.” General Manager used to rally buckets, it emerges. News comes from Dealer Principal who has had to go to London for a meeting with Fiat. Travelled by Motor Cycle rather than car, something happened to his luggage – it fell and caught fire on the exhaust. Luggage found at side of the road on fire. Problem solved, new suit from Savile Row. News also filtered down that he opened the wrong door to use the toilet and ended up opening the front door to the hotel room rather than the bathroom and walked into the hallway stark bollock naked. Without a key. General Manager used to rally keys.

Day seven: Son of service manager of other branch steals my office chair. Wondering where it is I launch a full scale investigation to hunt down whatever bastard stole my chair. Its whereabouts are soon discovered. It’s at the back of the yard with a hoover and a photocopier smouldering on a bonfire. Fire brigade called out by the bunch of ejits at the council yard. Fire officer who knew the cheeky arsonist bastard what set fire to my chair, looked at it, basically said DILLIGAF and fucked off. General Manager used to rally chairs, photocopiers and Fire Engines.

Day eight: I try my best to get General Manager to swear and say “fuck”. I try all sorts of things and none of them successful. Closest I get is “bastard” and “shit”. Apprentice mechanic opens bonnet of a car and says “eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” a lot. Instantly declares that the air filter on this JTD likes men. Then declares that all his colleagues like men and we’re all going on a trip to The Isle of Men, via a concert at the MEN Arena. General Manager apparently used to rally men.

Day nine: Fiat/Alfa DET “strategically places” airbag onto battery to see what would happen. It shoots across the floor underneath several scooters, fills the workshop up with smoke and causes Dealer Principal to come out of his office shouting “Who the fuck is letting off guns in the workshop?” General Manager says “shit!”

Day ten: I steal Apprentice lad’s bicycle and Chief Tech and MoT tester parks it in a tree (see picture). General Manager never rallied bicycles, strangely. Trees, however…

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August 8, 2013 Posted by | Motoring, Other Stuff! | 2 Comments

French car in “reliable for a year” scandal

A Peugeot named Edgar, literally some time ago

A Peugeot named Edgar, literally some time ago

I own a French car, so rather predictably I get the “all French cars is well shit lol don’t buy them cos dey break lol how many times your car broke LOL”, which is utter bollocks. The fact of the matter is, my French car is 26 years old, still on the road and is showing no signs of giving up yet.

The French car I’m talking about is Edgar. The name was chosen by my wife, and some friends have agreed this car is definitely an Edgar. I am, of course, talking about my 1987 Peugeot 205 Junior. I’ve had to tax it today, which means I’ve had it for a year now. It’s been a good year with the car. I love it to bits, it’s fun to drive and puts a smile on my face, is reliable and very cheap to run. It’s in fantastic nick for its age and is kept as much as possible in that condition. However, it is also a daily driver and first and foremost a work horse.

Quick it ain’t, only having 45bhp from its 954cc suitcase engine, but it’s lively enough around town and will cruise at about 65ish. But bloody hell is it economical and cheap to run. Sod all insurance costs, next to nothing on fuel and running repairs? Ha! Bugger all.

In fact here is a break down, if you’ll pardon the expression, of what has been done to Edgar the little Pug in a year:

– First week of ownership, it got a new set of wiper blades all round and a small engine service – cost £30
– Nothing until Christmas where for the first time it wouldn’t start. Damp HT leads and a fouled spark plug were the culprits. Nothing serious, no time to fix and zero cost.
– January: MoT time. Pretty much mate’s rates at the garage, so £25 for the test. It failed on one rear wheel bearing and one brake pipe. However, the other rear wheel bearing was an advisory and another brake pipe was getting a bit crusty. I had both brake pipes done as the fuel tank had to be lowered anyway. Whilst they were at it, the other wheel bearing was sorted out. A perishing CV boot was advised. Cost: £150
All quiet on the western front until April where for only the second time ever, it wouldn’t start properly. A new distributor cap and rotor arm sorted that at a cost of £11.00
Had a puncture a week later, hardly the car’s fault and whilst the wheel was off, had the CV boot done. Tyre: £25, CV boot: £30.

Excluding fuel, insurance and tax, the little 205 has cost me £671 in a year. That includes the purchase price of the car – that’s cheap. Factor in zero depreciation and it’s a winner. I’ve known people pay more than that for MoT repairs (usually on German stuff). Not bad for a French car, you know, the ones that continually break and fail. A French car that has got under my skin, become rather endearing and if it carries on like this will be with me for a very long time. I’m quite attached to it really.

 

 

August 3, 2013 Posted by | Music | , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

   

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