You might recall back in August I was in Edinburgh and had my bag stolen, loosing my computer, house keys and car keys. You will remember because I bleated on about it like a childish stuck record. Well it’s taken me until today, pathetically, to actually sort the car keys out (it’s just been sat in it’s parking space since then) and this meant a trip over to the Alfa dealership in Warrington.
Seeing as my job basically involves me travelling around the county, ideally by car, it’s bewildering that I’ve not yet got this sorted out. I am the worst in the world at putting things off, but with GH getting set up this has begun to change (hopefully not temporarily) and I’m being slightly more proactive and better at getting things done.
On top of the impracticality of not having a car, I’ve felt sorry and guilty for it, just sat there. Car’s have souls and are like people, and I’ve deserted it. I think when I finally do get a key in the ignition (and probably sort out the flat battery) I’m going to treat it to a good service and a wash. The MOT has also expired. Car’s are a real cash cow, rather like a child, but I do need it – and I love it – so I suppose it’s all worthwhile expense.
Even the new key is expensive. Over one hundred pounds. And that’s for the non-coded one (the chip in the key has to be coded in with the dashboard or some such futuristic nonsense) but to do that they’d need the car in Warrington. And obviously I can’t get it there. So once I get the key in a few day’s time, I’ll have to get another person out to code it on site. It’s one thing after another.
“So it’s £110 for a key…� I say to the woman at the showroom, “so how much would it be if I wanted a spare cut too?�
“£220� she said, as if I was stupid. I thought perhaps some of the cost would be just looking up all the relevant information and setting up the key cutting machine, so an extra key would cost far less, but evidently not. I went for the one key – leaving myself open to the inconvenience of loss or theft again but I will be ten times as vigilant from now on.
There is a Jaguar garage near the Alfa one (car dealerships hanging out in groups just as estate agent offices do) and so I popped in there to play one of my favourite pastimes, namely looking like you’re about to buy a £100,000 car and having the sales people pour all over you. The trick to this is uber-confidence. You’ve got to look rich. Slightly arrogant. Slightly aloof. They’re used to spotting people who only want to sit in one of their cars or perhaps take one out on a test drive to experience the thrill of driving their dream machine.
I’m not saying I’m good at this game, but I’m getting better. The first time I had a go was in an Aston Martin showroom and they saw me coming a mile off. This time I think I did okay, and had the sales assistant enthusiastically briefing me on the various options and configurations of the gloriously attractive Jaguar XK whilst I sat in the driving seat, giving cautious approval to the interior. I think I blew it when I said “And does it come in a manual, not just an automatic?� to be told what any serious potential customer would know, all their cars are automatic but have paddle gears either side of the steering wheel. I think then the salesman knew I was a fake. I’d love to have one of these cars though… Not just to show off, indeed not to show off at all, I’d be self-conscious if anything, but just because it’s a thing of such beauty. I love it.
The best thing would be to turn up looking really shabby, and have the sales people almost usher you off the premises, before putting up the cash to buy one on the spot and having them all grovel at your dirty feet. That would be a rewarding moment.
Trained back to Liverpool and went out to meet K and Helene in Magnet for H’s birthday celebrations. Good to see them both. Could only stay until nine when I had to go to a nearby restaurant for Renata’s birthday meal. TOO MANY BIRTHDAYS AT THE MOMENT. She had booked a table for nine and turned up at ten. Typical Renata form. I sat next to a girl called Natalie who was on her own, very pleasant, and got drunk on red wine.
An elder man, in his sixties, who’s name I can’t remember but it always present at Renata’s parties (she is a university lecturer and so is he) got up to make a birthday speech. He then said that it’s a tradition in somewhere like Norway for the speech to continue around the table, with everyone saying something. Many of the 30 or so guests had only been invited having met Renata at the university, didn’t know anyone else, and in some cases had only known Renata for a couple of weeks. This lead to some awkward mini-speeches. It got to me and I stood up, full of red wine, and made some comment about how great it was to see so many people of different ages, backgrounds, nationalities, and professions around the one table, which “accurately represents Renata’s love life.� This didn’t get a laugh. I sat back down, drained my glass, and buggered off.
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