Me, Stripey and other various ramblings
Posted: Tue 27.02.2007, 22:53It was in the autumn of 2001 when having recently lost my Dad, and bought my two elder brothers out of their share of the family home (my mom had passed away with Alzheimer's some years earlier) in Worcestershire, I was posted, on promotion to Northern Ireland.
On my trips home (I was working 21 on 6 off out there) Gail and I talked a lot about our courting days in the +2 (and the fact that I had to sell her to buy our first house together) and always longed for another Lotus. On one of my sojourns I nipped down to have a look at Paul Matty's stock, he had a couple in and , because we'd known each other for many years I blagged a test drive in one of his stock cars - big mistake, I was hooked. I had already explained to Paul that I could not possibly afford his prices, so he suggested that I spent some time in the showroom learning about the possible faults and problems that could be encountered with the M100s. We went over everything in detail, and then he introduced me to Roy, his chief mechanic, who, as Paul said, has probably forgotten more about Elans than I [me] will ever know. Anyway, I was sat there one Saturday morning when a prospective customer came in and started looking at a Calypso Red SE. Paul suddenly started to make a phone call and John had disappeared. The guy asked if I could tell him a bit about the car. Hesitancy got the better of me at first but I was soon in the swing and the guy seemed to go away happy with the knowledge he had gleaned. I never did find out whether he came back and bought it...but that would have been the stuff of fairy tales.
Paul was suitably impressed and told me that he thought I was ready to go out and find an Elan, but he reminded me, in no uncertainty, to do my homework before viewing each car. Little did I know that this was going to come back and bight my arse - big style.
My first few trips were to local cars, all of which had something particularly unpleasant to their character. Then, with my new found confidence in the market, I convinced myself that I'd found the right car...BRG (well, what did you expect!), well priced, FSH etc, but it was in York!
To hell with it, thought I (I had a couple more days off before I was due back in NI, so off I went). After a ridiculously long journey to North Yorkshire, I arrived at this large mansion and there she was, parked at the front door, looking almost regal. With a grin from ear to ear I walked up the steps and went to ring the bell, when this spotty little cretin opened the door and asked whether I was Stephen. "No" said I "I'm Simon, I've come to look at the Lotus." Anyway, once we'd explained ourselves he proceeded to try and show me his car at something akin to warp factor nine! Remembering what Paul had said about being methodical and not letting the seller dictate the situation, I stuck to my guns and gave the panels, wheels and tyres a good inspection - perfect.
I then asked pizza face to open the bonnet - gleaming, but there was something not right...I was struggling to put my finger on it, but something was ringing alarm bells. Think Vickers, what is it! No good, it wouldn't come to me.
I then opened the driver's door and was confronted with a perfectly acceptable, standard interior. The spoilt little tax dodger's got taste, I thought to myself, and it was then, when I sat down and peered at (what I later christened the 'fun boy three') the three centre dials that I realised that the group had become a duo, and they'd replaced the lead singer with an analogue clock. f**k an N/A. All this way to inspect a hairdryer!
I was gone in seconds - gutted.
But the Lotus in me would not be put off.
On my trips home (I was working 21 on 6 off out there) Gail and I talked a lot about our courting days in the +2 (and the fact that I had to sell her to buy our first house together) and always longed for another Lotus. On one of my sojourns I nipped down to have a look at Paul Matty's stock, he had a couple in and , because we'd known each other for many years I blagged a test drive in one of his stock cars - big mistake, I was hooked. I had already explained to Paul that I could not possibly afford his prices, so he suggested that I spent some time in the showroom learning about the possible faults and problems that could be encountered with the M100s. We went over everything in detail, and then he introduced me to Roy, his chief mechanic, who, as Paul said, has probably forgotten more about Elans than I [me] will ever know. Anyway, I was sat there one Saturday morning when a prospective customer came in and started looking at a Calypso Red SE. Paul suddenly started to make a phone call and John had disappeared. The guy asked if I could tell him a bit about the car. Hesitancy got the better of me at first but I was soon in the swing and the guy seemed to go away happy with the knowledge he had gleaned. I never did find out whether he came back and bought it...but that would have been the stuff of fairy tales.
Paul was suitably impressed and told me that he thought I was ready to go out and find an Elan, but he reminded me, in no uncertainty, to do my homework before viewing each car. Little did I know that this was going to come back and bight my arse - big style.
My first few trips were to local cars, all of which had something particularly unpleasant to their character. Then, with my new found confidence in the market, I convinced myself that I'd found the right car...BRG (well, what did you expect!), well priced, FSH etc, but it was in York!
To hell with it, thought I (I had a couple more days off before I was due back in NI, so off I went). After a ridiculously long journey to North Yorkshire, I arrived at this large mansion and there she was, parked at the front door, looking almost regal. With a grin from ear to ear I walked up the steps and went to ring the bell, when this spotty little cretin opened the door and asked whether I was Stephen. "No" said I "I'm Simon, I've come to look at the Lotus." Anyway, once we'd explained ourselves he proceeded to try and show me his car at something akin to warp factor nine! Remembering what Paul had said about being methodical and not letting the seller dictate the situation, I stuck to my guns and gave the panels, wheels and tyres a good inspection - perfect.
I then asked pizza face to open the bonnet - gleaming, but there was something not right...I was struggling to put my finger on it, but something was ringing alarm bells. Think Vickers, what is it! No good, it wouldn't come to me.
I then opened the driver's door and was confronted with a perfectly acceptable, standard interior. The spoilt little tax dodger's got taste, I thought to myself, and it was then, when I sat down and peered at (what I later christened the 'fun boy three') the three centre dials that I realised that the group had become a duo, and they'd replaced the lead singer with an analogue clock. f**k an N/A. All this way to inspect a hairdryer!
I was gone in seconds - gutted.
But the Lotus in me would not be put off.
