Buyers of used cars – that will be me and probably you – are tightening their belts.
A high percentage of new cars are now bought by companies, because the cost of living means they are not so good an investment any more. More than half of motorists now say they plan to spend less than £10,000 on their next wagon.
Sales of new cars are plummeting and motorists now want to switch to second-hand. Makes sense, I suppose.
James Fairclough, a big wheel at the AA, said new car sales fell in June, as buyers switched their focus to the second-hand market. Of course, buying second-hand can be a disadvantage. Repair bills are higher, with one in five spending more than £350 a year at a garage.
The man from the AA suggested taking out a warranty, saying a major fault which requires immediate action can throw budgets into disarray. Not sure, sir. I was always told warranties were a rip-off, certainly the one for our washing machine was.
I put in a claim for a repair. It didn’t meet the criteria, said a lah-di-dah voice on the phone from Milton Keynes. No explanation. He hung up. When I phoned back to complain, I was passed around various departments until I lost the will to, well, hold on anymore.
Then, I got a call back 10 minutes later to ask me, for their survey, how my interaction was with these lovely warranty people. For instance, how useful was it for me today?
I replied that it was as useful as a handbrake on a canoe. There was silence. Then the surveyor had the audacity to ask: “I see, sir. Just one thing. Would you spell handbrake as one word or two?”
Will Boris Johnson make a comeback?
Would you spell comeback as one word or two? We may be using that word a lot soon, if the latest political campaign is successful.
I’d have more faith in Bubbles, the Nairn-based clown, who I met at the Lochs Show on Saturday
He hasn’t even left the building yet, but Boris Johnson and friends are starting a bid for him not to leave in September. They want his name on the ballot paper. Conservatives must get the chance to keep Big Dog, they say.
Nothing bad that happened was actually Boris’s fault, one said. Just in the wrong place at the right time. He did very well, considering… Considering what, exactly?
Mr Johnson doesn’t have the best memory for details, but that is the case with many people in Britain, I heard one say. He did Brexit and would get a lot more done if the party members just gave him a chance.
His supporters looked very serious. They didn’t even smile when someone who used to work for the Conservatives said he was like a Tilley lamp. I remember Tilley Stormlight lamps. You got one out of the cupboard when there was a power cut.
Why was Boris Johnson like a Tilley lamp? Not very bright and had to be carried, he said.
I’d have more faith in Bubbles, the Nairn-based clown, who I met at the Lochs Show on Saturday. At least he kept all his balls in the air at the same time and didn’t mess up.
Driving an ex-police car
I messed up when I once bought an ex-police car. High mileage, very fast, and a shelf on which to put coffee and doughnuts.
Sadly, its conversion back to civilian car didn’t happen. It had several tweaks from its constabulary days. It could be left running without keys in the ignition. You couldn’t drive it away without pressing a secret button. It wasn’t 007, but that had me confused for weeks.
The rear doors wouldn’t open without opening the front doors first. Not like child locks, you couldn’t open them from outside either. Really handy features for a writer in the Western Isles – especially one without sheep.
One hot July day – remember them? – we decided to go for ice creams. Mrs X was in the back like Lady Muck enjoying being chauffeured around.
At the supermarket, I got out to chat to someone I knew and then went in to find herself. Suddenly, a big guy from Ness cornered me in the homewares department. He sort of squared up and blurted out: “You should know that I think Mrs X is really hot.”
The cheek of the fellow. The language. I looked for a gauntlet to throw at his feet, but Tesco don’t sell them nowadays. I spotted yellow and pink Marigolds but, no, not for a grim tussle to the death in the car park.
Stutteringly, I erupted: “H-how dare you? You, you amadan, you. Does Mrs X look like someone on Love Island?”
He replied: “Oh Dhia, naw mate. I mean she’s boiling hot. She’s locked in your car.”
Iain Maciver is a former broadcaster and news reporter from the Outer Hebrides
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