So. Through a long series of emails, phone calls, mutual worry about responsibility/poor judgment/information/accuracy and several Flickr guest passes to view the car in detail, I bought (by proxy) this car last week. This beautiful piece of British engineering you see before you.There were several issues with the purchase, although mainly they are minor logistical issues. The smallest (*cough*) of which is the fact that I had to buy it by proxy (I am referring to Sarah as my proxy, for reference) because I was unable to view it in person because the car is in California. Which, in case anyone is unsure, is 2,500miles from me. In a different country. This did make viewing it rather difficult.
Well. Impossible. Let's be honest.
The technique I used to try and assess the car was to shower Sarah with emails and IM floods, going into excruciating detail (bordering on utter patronisation, I don't doubt) as to what to do, what to look, listen and smell for and the Pressing Of Many Buttons to check electrical systems.
Apparently, I have been repeatedly informed, the sunroof works. Everything else seems to, also, but the sunroof (for reasons unknown to me) seems to be getting centre stage.
Now that I have purchased the car, I have a small joblist before I can drive the beast. (Incidentally, did you know you can transfer fairly sizable sums of money to america from Canada and have it clear in fifteen minutes? Without having a bank account in the establishment? Awesome). I have to fix a small water leak, investigate a (potentially inconsequential) battery charging issue and fix the speedometer and the fuel sender on one of the tanks.
Then drive a completely unknown car 2,500 miles into the frozen North.
The OTHER problem with buying this car? That I didn't foresee? That is causing me rather a lot of grief right now? My existing car appears to have got wind of its imminent replacement and is now - after several months of trouble-free motoring - decided to generally fuck me about something chronic. I'm not normally one to believe that cars sulk and are vindictive, but I'm close. First, the battery shat itself and left my boss and I stranded outside the sandwich shop on Thursday lunchtime. And now, after driving to the Canadian Tyre shop to take the old battery back, The Beast has refused to start. So I spent the best part of two hours in the car park, in the cold, taking it apart and trying to find the problem - running in and out with parts and tools trying to keep warm. It seems that Canadian Tyre hasn't the part in stock that I fear is broken.
Fucking thing. The last thing I want to do is spend cash on my existing pile of shit car. Mainly because I have bought a (ssssh) much better, more beautiful one, but also because I am going to Spain tomorrow afternoon and I don't have time to fuck about. So I am going back when the store reopens to see if they can get me the part, and if not am going to try an find some way of getting it somewhere I can store it for 10 days until I get back.
THEN I need to get to California to pick up the Jag. Which is showing rather disturbing signs of, despite my best efforts, being christened "Jebus". I think I'll either fight harder to lose that title, or just give in. It does make me laugh that it keeps getting called that. Mainly because I know it is being done to annoy me, and..... you know. I can respect that.