Sefton Park
We're told it's not a good time to think about or go ahead with moving home. What about cars? John McCormick, in his second Covid-19 diary from Liverpool - please see the full series at this link - ponders a decision that's been looming for while ...
That’s especially true of my car, which I was about to change just before the shutters came down. Now, I have to say cars are of no importance to me and never have been. I’m not one of those people who need a top-range, recent model. It’s true that my expectations have risen over the years and I now consider a five-star NCAP rating, air con and power steering essential, while my wife, who has being doing the driving for a year, feels the same about rear parking sensors but other than that almost anything that can carry a full load over the Pennines, take two child safety seats and accommodate a rod bag will do.
My preference is to buy something second hand – pre-owned in modern parlance – and run it until it needs to be replaced. That usually takes about 10 years. Instead of paying a monthly contract I save up the money and pay cash for the next car and, not being fussy about make or model, I usually get a good deal. I think financiers call this amortising, where you write off the upfront cost over the life of the package. It’s a bit like football clubs writing off a player’s transfer fee over the life of a contract, so that when that contract expires the player has a notional value of zero, which is roughly what my car is worth.
Incidentally, amortising is rare at Sunderland as players usually become worthless within weeks of signing, irrespective of the length of their contract.
But let’s return to my car. It’s a Citroen C4, first registered in 2008. It has been reliable for years despite a lack of maintenance and washing (it has lichens and algae growing on it and I wouldn’t like to disturb them) but I began to think about replacing it about 18 months ago. There was no rush and this was at the onset of autumn, so I decided to wait until the rigours and salt of winter were gone. In practice this means April, as that’s when my car tax runs out. So we kept the car and it did fine, starting first time during frosty mornings, wet weather and the occasional bit of snow.
Then came last year’s spring, when my health meant we needed another postponement. I did manage to get the car to an MOT test during chemotherapy, cleaning the wiper blades beforehand to ensure it passed, and as I’d taxed the car by then we held on to it, and on to it, and on to it, until October came around and we thought it might as well serve out another winter.
This plan worked until January, when our car began to make a noise. Not permanently, just in the first few minutes after starting and especially when cornering. A high pitched screech, as if a piece of metal was being drilled without lubrication.
I began to look at car dealer websites and I even stopped by a forecourt one day, where I tried to sound knowledgeable when some salesman beetled across to talk to me. The truth is I go for so long between car changes that eras of technology pass me by. What is this thing called Satnav?
The noise got worse, louder and higher in pitch. It got so bad that the lady in the petrol kiosk at Asda had to cover her ears when we filled up and in Sefton Park, a mile or two away, birds took flight and bats came out of hibernation just to be able to emigrate. Then, after a mile or so of driving, the noise died down again.
This pattern began to be repeated and a friend suggested a couple of possibilities, so I rang a couple of garages. They pretty much declined to be interested. One said they could have a look but probably wouldn’t be able to fix it. Another could fit me in in a couple of weeks, if they were still open ("cos of that virus”), but couldn’t promise more than that. We returned to seeking a replacement.
A web search found something suitable but by now the virus was looking serious. Did we really want to risk driving to a showroom? We hummed and hahed, and decided we didn’t, at which point Boris shut everything down and it all became moot.
That left us a single course of action. I turned the engine on, opened the bonnet and sprayed the fan belt and moving bits with WD40. The noise got worse. Much worse. Scarily worse. It sounded like something was going to blow.
And then the noise stopped, just like that. The next day our car went to the shops as quietly as a mouse. Then a second trip, as quiet as the last one, and this week it managed a third, with nary a squeak.
Yesterday our car tax reminder arrived.
We have three weeks in which to decide what to do but, really, coronavirus has made that decision for us. If the car stays as it is I’ll tax it for six months and we’ll see what happens. We think it will be OK; it’s not like we’re going anywhere, not even for an MOT.
But that course of action raises a question of its own as it will take us to the autumn. Will we still have the same car a year from now? My wife doesn’t think so. Me? I’m not so sure.
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