The Honda HR-V had stood on my drive for 3 weeks. No-one had responded to the For Sale sign in the window. This had not been helped by the gas men closing the road on the same day that the For Sale sign was stuck in the window and the road looked set to remain closed for the foreseeable future. Not many people ever passed my house at the top of an unmade road and now nobody did. This was good for my nerves but not for my bank balance.
This was not even my car. It belonged to my son, who was no longer insured to drive it. So we decided to put the car on Ebay. Even this relatively straightforward procedure was hampered by an ignorance of punctuation on the part of most punters. He had correctly advertised his car with the hyphen. Those slackers who had omitted it were rewarded with having their advertisement placed further up the billing than his. On the last day of bidding he decided to abandon his principles, removed the hyphen and within minutes of closing, Stefan from Sweden offered the asking price.
I went outside to view the car through Swedish eyes. My drive sloped at such an angle that when it snowed, I went to work on the bus. Each winter I lived in dread of it snowing whilst I was actually at work. I had foolishly parked the car facing down the drive so that all the weight was on the front end. This quickened the pace of the slow puncture so that the tyre on the passenger side looked decidedly flat. My plan of ignoring it thinking it might get better hadn’t worked. I would now need to illicit the help of my son.
He came over on Friday night and declared the car unfit to drive to the garage. The garage is only 500 metres away from the house but as the road was still closed at the top, it would now involve a 2-mile round trip which could ruin the alloys. So he was going to take off the wheel, run up the hill to the garage, put air in and return. This would have to be Saturday morning. I was nervous for him. He is not a practical man and had not changed many tyres and probably none on a drive with a 45 degree angle. Anxious not to infect him with my nervousness, I pottered about in the basement ready to run to his help at the sound of screaming. An hour later he was just starting. I later found evidence of his having gone back to bed with the Guardian. I hung around pretending to help, not taking my eyes off the jack holding all the weight of the car on one corner. He succeeded without being crushed and parked the car the other way round.
He cleaned the car inside for Stefan the Swede, but discovering I had neither sponge nor carwash, left the outside for the rain to wash (the aforementioned garage having raised their price for a simple wash from £1 to £2.50 which son considered excessive). This was perhaps as well as my friend Sheila had inadvertently marked the rear door when opening the door of her Toyota Yaris Verso and excessive cleaning would have highlighted this. Stefan was not coming for another 10 days so I was instructed to keep an eye on the tyre and put more air in when necessary.
The day before Swedish Stefan was due, I took the car for a spin and then checked the tyres. I had driven to Carcroft with a tyre pressure of 41 in one front tyre and 21 in the other. It had seemed OK.
Stefan was flying to Stansted, getting a train to Doncaster which was due in at 2.30 pm on Wednesday. I was to meet him at the station and he was going to drive the car back to Sweden. Girlfriend of son advised against me taking him home to feed him first but instead said that I should take car to station with friend of my choosing. I chose Sheila. This would show that I had forgiven her the inadvertent scratch. I did not pack picnic hamper but did throw in a few CDs which had been free on The Word. I also gave in and washed the car. It then rained for the following 14 hours.
Stefan phoned me at 1.13 pm to advise that he was on the train heading for Glasgow due to arrive in Doncaster at 2.30. I asked him if he would want to eat on arrival. He said that was very kind of me but he had eaten so Sheila and I went for the fish special at Rothwells (fish, chips, mushy peas, bread and butter, pot of tea for 2 - £8.90).
We got to the station in plenty of time and positioned ourselves at the 2 separate exits but in view of each other. I held a sign saying ‘Stefan for the Honda). I felt embarrassed at first but this soon wore off and I hoisted it proudly. The home-made sign had been folded in my bag and when I held it timidly folded, it read ‘Stefan for the Ho’. Not too many rappers pass through Doncaster station and it was unlikely that I would be mistaken for a ‘ho’ although someone I used to work with did come up to me and remark on my new career.
I had no idea what Stefan would look like although he sounded young on the phone. Sheila thought he would be tall and slim and this he proved to be. He looked about 30 and was extremely handsome and courteous. He spoke perfect English and asked if swine flu was a hoax. We took him to the car, 2 middle-aged women in Doncaster. He was probably more nervous of us than us of him. He was willing to accept the car, warts and all. The sale had been concluded on eBay so I got the paperwork out. Along with my sign ‘Stefan for the Honda’, I had constructed receipts for us both and had the Vehicle Registration Document, MOT and insurance. He had an envelope stuffed with £1080 (the asking price of £1,250 less the deposit paid by Paypal of £125, less £50 for him returning the tax disc, totalling £1075. He had obtained cash from a Post Office. All they had was £1080 so he let me keep the extra £5 for my trouble.
Sheila counted the money in the back of the car. The windows started to steam up. She seemed to take a long time counting the money. The denomination of notes were random with many fivers.
I then got confused about which bit of the Vehicle Registration Form he should take and I should keep and let him persuade me that he should take sections 1 – 8 and all that I needed was Section 11. I looked at his driving licence but didn’t take the number but secured his signature for the sale of the car and for export. I had had trouble sleeping for a few nights.. I had visions of Stefan:
A Getting 10 speeding tickets on the way to Dover, the car still being registered in my son’s name
B Killing someone in the car, the car still being registered in my son’s name
C Not sending the registration documents in and my son being liable for everything that ever happens to it until it dies.
Five days later, my son receives the tax disc back. I am convinced by son’s girlfriend that all of the transaction is documented by email and that Stefan has an immaculate credit rating.
Son buys me a bottle of wine for my help in the transaction. He has not worried at all.
Thursday 24 December 2009
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