Look away now if you're tempted to make an offer for one of my vehicles, because they all seem to be playing up a bit. That usually happens once the rotten weather arrives and, as usual, it is the oldest and crappiest ones that are the easiest to sort.
Firstly, the Saab 9000, which on my rotation basis is the first to go, and has air con that has gone to sleep. It isn’t broken, because occasionally it pops into life, and as it is winter this is less of an issue. It's a sensor thing, apparently, so it only needs to be plugged into the mains for a system check. Then again, Mrs R, who is the Saab’s custodian, phoned in a fairly infuriated manner yesterday because it wouldn’t start. Plipper problems this time. Open the doors, shut the doors a few times and suddenly we have contact. I’ll have to monitor that one.
BMW 525i on the blink? Well, the automatic gearbox has become lazy and I feared the worst. I spoke to a gearbox guru who diagnosed a lack of fluid. Indeed, I had spent several hours trying to find the fluid entry point. Apparently there isn’t one. You need a special tube and the engine running to suck it up to the correct level. That should be fun to watch. Meanwhile, the curse of the metric tyre size has struck, because I need one of Dunlop’s finest. That’s a few quid shy of £200. However, a new set of proper imperial alloys will be £200 including part worns. That should sort it all out then.
Finally Mini Ha Ha, who’s 43-years-old, starts on the button after months of being trapped behind scaffolding. In celebration I loaded her up for a run to the dump. It’s clown car time as I unload an endless number of black bags whilst the Landcruiser owners looked on open mouthed.
Smugly I jump in, start first time, engage gear and release the handbrake. At which point the cable snapped. Something else to look at…