Welcome back to what is effectively episode two of my great big Volvo adventure. Just to briefly recap, in an attempt to make every purchasing mistake in the book, for the purposes of research and for the fragrant readers of Used Car Expert, I bought a car blind. All I’d seen were some bleary digital images. It was listed on the world’s favourite auction website, but I was outbid. Except that I wasn’t, and the seller, a car trader was keen for me to have it, so keen in fact that we spoke on the telephone and agreed a price £900 lower than the supposed winning bid. More on that later.
Actually the most idiotic risk I took was not having a data check done. I did phone and ask if the car was clear (not stolen, not on finance, or previously written off) and they said yes, which really isn’t good enough. But this was an experiment on your behalf, until it got to 1.00am on a Sunday morning when Mrs R asked whether I had carried out a data check. I said no and she booted me out of bed to go and boot up the computer and do it online. Luckily I did and the car was clear and I got to snuggle up to a nice warm wife for night rather than shivering uncomfortably on the sofa.
What I hadn’t bargained for was the Volvo being delivered by the Grim Reaper. I’d got a transporter involved because that’s what I used to do in the motor trade and was also an admission that I couldn’t quite organise a 300 mile round trip involving public transport. Anyway, the Reaper was full of the joys of life and warned me that there was body damage. Well the Volvo was at 45 degrees and the side I could see looked OK. I dreaded discovering the horrible truth, which turned out to be a tiny scrape and dig at the bottom of the nearside rear door. I remembered seeing that on one of the fuzzy pictures and reckoned I could sort that out with a bit of T-Cut.
So here it was, one slightly scruffy Volvo appliance that had presumably been bought straight out of the auctions for a sum not unadjacent to £3000 and then bought by me for £500 more. I knew this because the invoice said so, but it didn’t have the dealer’s name on the top, no that seemed to belong to the person who was the next highest bidder. I am still waiting for clarification from our auction pals.
What about the car then? Well it needed a service, as the Volvo had last seen a ramp 12,000 miles previously. I nervously dropped it off with my local spanner man who did a full ramp and stamp. No worries apart from rear tyres which have just a few thousand miles of life and the exhaust and here comes the good bit. If I had parked the Volvo at a glass and concrete showroom they would have recommended a completely new exhaust, but this was a proper garage, so they made a bracket and welded it on for a few quid. Otherwise it had been well looked after during its life mechanically, even though cosmetically it needed a bit of work.
Indeed, Mrs R had refused to officially sit inside until it had been deep cleaned and that meant finding someone capable of doing a decent valet. Already we had plucked an Elvis CD out of one of the door pockets, which was the extent of our attempt at a spring clean. Our man with mop and brush greeted me with the words “Well I found where that nasty smell was coming from.” What smell? Well apparently he’d found a decomposed sandwich stuck under the rear seat, ughhh. Whereas the rest of us could probably suffer a lifetime of trauma and recurring nightmares, he was a professional and used to things like that. The front mats were now clean, but had clearly outlived their usefulness, so we chucked those in the bin.
So far, so good. all seven seats have been used. It swallows small bikes whole and there is an annoying buzz from some sort of baffle or cover underneath the engine. Then last night on a long run we decided to put a tape in the hole in the dashboard. Remember cassette tapes? Small plastic stupid things that unravel when you least expect it. Well firstly it played the tapes too fast so it sounded like we had singing chipmunks trapped behind the dashboard. Then when we ejected the tape, the system didn’t recognise that the tape had gone. Despite prodding buttons and jamming fingers inside the mechanism it took the best part of an hour to get the radio back.
And frankly if a bit of cassette tape jiggery pokery is the worst that it gets buying a car without bothering to see it or check properly, then I think I’m up on the deal. Next time though I will be a lot more boring. Promise.
Words: James Ruppert