I’m standing in the freezing wind with Michael. He’s driven his tow truck down from Slough. The rain is getting in my face. Michael wants to make hard eye contact. He also likes touching my shoulder. He keeps saying “I’m talking to you man to man.” He sounds like a stuck record. I think it’s something he’s doing consciously, to “engender trust”. Although he is a man. And I’m a man. So he’s not wrong. He’s just not very good at this.
The bonnet is up on my fucked Suzuki. Today is the only day I have to get rid of it before I’m over halfway through the month and likely to get stung for tax. It’s going with Michael no matter what. But unfortunately Michael has seen the postcode.
The catalytic converter has been changed. Apparently that’s what he came for. The original one is the only thing of value in the car because it’s got platinum etc etc. It’s been changed though. Oh deary, and he’s come all the way from Slough just for the unexpected detail that isn’t present. That’s all he wanted, you see, that detail. Oh deary bye. But man to man, because I’ve got a nice face (literally he said it) etc etc he’ll do me the massive favour of getting rid of it and he’ll only charge me 50 quid. Blarney little bastard knows damn well we are going to settle at nothing here but he’s pulling out all the stops to make sure he gets this car for free, and after all this is Chelsea. He honestly genuinely tries to charge me to take my car after agreeing to pay me 100 quid cash over the phone. How can you run a business like that? I know things are tough but seriously? We’re all fucked. Why screw the little people. Now I am not able to book my train ticket to Manchester.
I could tell him to stick it up his arse, if course, but then the car is still sitting there. It cost me very little in the first place and it needs to go. Its time is done. We had a good summer together, that car and I, but the insurance is becoming a burden and the tax will be an issue very soon. And there’s no way in hell it’s passing MOT in March. Better he takes it today while I’ve got time. But don’t try and fool me into trusting you, Michael. I don’t trust you. I’m happy with “You want to get rid of it, I want to take it. I’m not giving you any money because I’m a bastard. Do you want it to sit there for another 3 months?”
I peel off the residents permit and help him winch it onto his truck. Off she goes to a new life as scrap.
Then I’m off to option B for cash. Residents permit refund. But nope. That’ll take 3 days. I call and cancel the insurance. The unused insurance for this month almost exactly matches the cancellation fee. There’s nothing to pay, but I don’t get a ticket to Manchester out of it. I’m wondering how I’ll get to Manchester when I get an email telling me the ticket has been booked on my behalf anyway. I needn’t have worried.
At least I got rid of the car, I think, putting my hand into my pocket and feeling the car key. Oops. All that and I didn’t give Michael the key…
Ach. Well if he wants it he can give me 100 pounds the bloody crook.
Happy Valentine’s Day kids! Was your day as romantic as mine? Perhaps you wiped baby poo off the carpet, or helped build a steel truss! Tune in tomorrow for more romantic antics!! I’m off for fun with old friends.