Description
My new car was ready on my first day, it was a Peugeot 405 STDTi in metallic graphite. It had a 1900 cc turbo-diesel with 90 horsepower. It was dour – that is the best word for it.
If Gordon Brown was a car then he’d be a Peugeot 405 STDTi.
I had chosen the thing because it had a six CD stacker with a decent stereo system and it had air-conditioning. These were very sexy features for such a dismal car and presumably Peugeot had realised they had to do something to enhance it. CD players and air-conditioning were rare and expensive optional extras on only a few cars at the time, so it was a little exciting to have them. I remember driving home after my first day having loaded the CD stacker with albums I’d brought with me that morning. I was eager to exploit what little this car had going for it from the off. I’d selected the albums for different ranges of styles and textures so although all these years later I can’t be certain exactly what they were, it’s a pretty fair guess to say there was probably Bjork’s ‘Debut’, Suede debut album, Sting’s ‘Ten Summoner’s Tales’, The Cranberries debut album and as a contrast probably Depeche Mode’s ‘Songs of Faith and Devotion’. The distorted opening to ‘I Feel You’ would have been just what I was after to drown out the engine noise, although it would have had to have been really loud and even then you could still hear the low frequency grinding hum redolent of a cross-channel ferry. ‘Animal Nitrate’ is another track best enjoyed loud. Radiohead also arrived on the scene about this time and it was evident from ‘Creep’ that they were going to be different from the other fledging Brit-Pop bands of the time, although ‘Anyone Can Play Guitar’ and ‘Stop Whispering’ do not in anyway presage ‘How To Disappear Completely’. Suede, Depeche Mode and Blur were a contrast with Sting’s bucolic ‘Fields of Gold’ or playful ‘Seven Days’. An interesting feature in the car was the mix button that would play tracks randomly from the six discs and this would throw up clashes of styles which made the journey home more enjoyable. What wasn’t enjoyable was the fact that one of my two new lads who would be working for me lent me a CD to play on the way home. I guess it was like giving the teacher your apple but his taste was diabolical and even today whenever I hear Extreme’s ‘More Than Words’ I race to the source of the musical defamation and turn it off.
The air-conditioning in the car was very useful and a bit of a talking point although this was December and it would be the spring when it’s benefits could be enjoyed fully.
My wife was heavily pregnant and was due in January and so, at least, this car was a family car and capable of transporting the new extended family with all its gear comfortably and with space to breath in and out which hadn’t been the case in the Clio 16v.
The truth, however, is that I hated the car from the very first time I started the engine. It wasn’t just the strange looks you’d get because of the thick smoke that bellowed forth at start up or when you changed gear, but it was the noise. It was boring and no amount of gimmickry or advanced features would disguise that fact. It was reasonably well made but it shock and rattled once the engine was started and the gear changes were clunky, the car was dull and unresponsive. One of the most annoying things was the nomenclature: ‘STDTi’. This was meaningless gibberish which allegedly stood for something like: Special Turbo Diesel Tourer Injection with the ‘i’ painted red and the other letters in silver like that would wow a prospective purchaser.
I though it stood for: Shit, Tank, Dull, Tepid and Idiotic! Apparently, that is correct.
Another thing that annoyed me was that the Peugeot had a rocket ship in their 405 line-up at the time: the M16i. This was a 155 brake horsepower street racer. My STDTi was styled similarly, which was just a depressing joke. The whole thing irritated me, how dare Peugeot think that they could fob me off with a six CD stacker and air-conditioning, it was a shitty nasty car and it pissed me off. It would have to go and quickly. I set about endearing myself to the fleet managers to see what could be done.
I’d joined the company as a senior manager and with this came an office and a secretary. Do you remember those? Secretaries have disappeared completely, apart from in porno videos – so I’m told! My office had my nameplate on the door and I was allowed to choose the pictures on the walls and the plants in the pots including an enormous Yucca.
No, I couldn’t believe it either!
The office was large enough to have a circular table within it with four chairs as well as my large desk and filing cabinet. All this was pretty difficult for me to get my head around but the secretary was an altogether different matter.
What on Earth was I going to do with a secretary? I struggle to keep myself busy.
I had often been attracted by those six and seven star hotels that there are around the world in exotic locations: Dubai, Hong Kong and Mauritius. But as I learnt that some of them came with a butler they began to fill me with dread. What would I want to have done that a butler could do for me? I’d end up spending all my holiday just thinking about how to keep the chap busy.
“Giles, do you think you could flick your finger across the iPad screen please. I’m ready to read the next page now!”
It was a constant strain to keep myself occupied meaningfully, so what was the secretary going to do? As it turned out, she seemed to know exactly what she wanted to do and she and I worked very well together. She was more capable than me and so I made her an integral member of the team organising databases, pipelines and the like. She excelled at this and continued to take on greater and greater responsibility. Today she runs her own business and is very successful.
We were sharing lunch in my office one day and were chatting about what we’d done in the past and she asked me about how I found out about this job. She’d been in the company about three months longer than me and although she hadn’t been in the team until I’d moved her over, she had worked closely with some of the team on various assignments. I told her about the head-hunter, how I thought I’d got the job and how annoyed I’d been when I’d found out that there was another candidate and it looked like I’d lost the job. I didn’t tell her about all the negotiations over the breakfast table in the Hilton Hotel. She explained that that was the reason for her questioning and did I know the other candidate. It turned out that the other candidate was well known in the industry and had been introduced to the team because my boss had been charmed by her at her second interview and had more or less decided then and there to give her the job. He’d paraded her around the office to meet and greet all the team after the interview. Done deal! Meanwhile, I was badgering the head-hunter to get back in the loop to see the Sales Director and he had, I suppose, reluctantly given me the graveyard shift appointment at seven o’clock at the Hilton. So with this new insight I was feeling pretty good about myself, I’d overturned a strong candidate who thought that the job was hers and who had already met ‘her’ team. I’d stolen victory from the jaws of defeat. I must be really good! I told my secretary that it was quite an achievement to come back from that to get the job, wasn’t it? I rippled with overweening pride. I must have come across as too smug because what she said next gave me pause for thought.
“Of course, there may be another explanation?” she teased.
“Oh yes, what’s that?” I asked convinced my stock value was at an all time high.
“Maybe she didn’t want the job, after all!”
Bitch!
Unfortunately, I had joined just as the new diesel policy had been introduced and some of my colleagues who had joined just 6 months earlier had petrol machines. They were chosen from a limited selection with none of them being particularly desirable, but at least their cars didn’t sound like there was a tractor was in the car-park about to embark on a ploughing competition.
Within a few weeks, I found that something could be done. One of the sales people who’d joined six months before had been let-go just before I’d joined and his car was in the pool being used only when other cars were being serviced. Our department was paying for it which was interesting. My pompous boss just wanted to laud it over us, he didn’t actually want to do anything and so it was an easy task to persuade him that I should take more accountability for our cost centre. At about this time, one of the people I managed, who’d had his nose pushed out by my arrival in the company, announced his intention to leave. He wasn’t easy to manage, but our activity levels were rising as the sales force developed relationships with prospects and required proposals to be developed and submitted. I needed this chap and he was very good. I also recognised that his experience and tenacity demanded parity with the other chap I managed. This other chap had a company car whilst the chap who had just resigned did not.
So I put two and two together and went to my boss. Essentially, I convinced him that we could keep the intransigent individual if we offered him a little more money and a company car – remembering what an inducement my first company car had been for me. I then explained to my boss it wouldn’t cost very much at all because I’d offer him my car and I’d take a car from the pool which we were already paying for. So, in the round, the total outlay was only the slight incremental cost of the pay-rise. And on the other side of the coin we would save the cost of recruitment through an agency which was about 25% of salary in those days plus a factor that we applied which took into account the attrition of sales staff and the chances of the next recruit being a success. All in all, a very good day’s accounting and to top it all, I’d got away from the diesel and into a petrol machine again, at least for a short while.
Around this time, my wife’s MG Metro had had two alternator failures and was beginning to outstay its welcome. Besides that, it was too small for the two children now and had begun to feel decidedly unsafe. We’d had it for nearly three years, but it was time for a change.
We went to a secondhand car dealer in Church Crookham near Fleet and looked at their stock because they had a number of Ford Escorts on the forecourt and both of us felt that this was the most sensible next option. We both liked a MKIV Escort, three door hatchback which was a very unusual metallic bronze colour with white wheels that really set it off a treat. It was one of the last MKIVs and so Ford had re-badged it as the ‘Bonus’ model with the metallic paint et cetera. I can not remember any other options, it certainly didn’t have electric windows, but it had an air-bag and was robust. It was a 1300 straight four and like all Fords it was responsive and very driveable. It was not nippy, but that wasn’t our primary objective. Compared to the MG Metro it was very roomy with the hatchback offering a large boot plenty big enough for buggies and assorted survival gear for the kids. The fold down front seats offered good access to the rear passenger compartment so you didn’t have to be a contortionist to put the kids into their car seats. So we arranged a test drive and whilst my wife was off driving it, I was in discussion with the dealer regarding a trade-in part exchange for the MG Metro. He said that was going to be alright and he then proceeded to examine the vehicle inside and outside for scratches, deterioration beyond the normal wear and tear and pronounced it ‘average’. Which I took as a result. He then asked if he could drive it and I offered him the key encouragingly.
He was gone no more than a couple of minutes and hastened from the car having stopped it by the kerb. He looked at me very strangely and in a curious manner.
“Have you ever noticed anything unusual about that car?” he asked incredulously.
“No”, I replied quite innocently.
“…like it pulls to the left quite a lot?”
“Oh that. Yes, I think there’s something wrong with the tracking,” I replied.
He looked at me again, he wasn’t sure whether I was deliberately lying or I was a complete idiot.
Turns out I was a complete idiot.
“I want a second opinion,” he said and he disappeared into the garage returning some moments later with a mechanic in overalls. The mechanic was carrying a jack and a torch. They walked over to the MG Metro and proceeded to jack it up. The mechanic then tentatively lay on his back under the car and peered underneath with the torch. He quickly extricated himself from his precarious position and talked, just out of earshot, to the dealer. I imagined that a derogatory comment at my expense was made judging by the simultaneous looks in my direction and how they quickly turned to continue their conversation face to face.
After a while, the dealer came back over to me whilst the mechanic proceeded to stare at the vehicle from the front and the back seemingly accessing its level to the road. Meanwhile, the dealer was standing directly in front of me, he was very serious. This was either the very best negotiation charade I’d ever experienced or there was a serious issue.
“How long have you been driving around in that?” he nodded in the direction of the MG Metro.
“My wife has been driving it for three years now, probably.”
“…with the child in the back of it?”
“Yes.”
At this point, I was beginning to worry.
“Where did you get the car?” he continued.
“Through a private dealer in Bournemouth.”
“Can you remember the name of the garage?”
“No sorry, it wasn’t a garage it was a house and it was sort of a private dealer with a few cars on his front lawn.”
This seemed to confirm everything the dealer suspected.
“Look, I can’t give you anything for it. It’s been a write-off and it looks like two cars have been welded together and not very well, so they don’t align and that’s why it snakes about and pulls at the steering wheel. The chassis is severely compromised, it’s a death-trap and could have fallen apart at any moment.”
As he said that, my wife pulled up in the Escort beaming from ear to ear.
“It’s only worth the scrap value of £50.”
We bought the Ford Escort for my wife and the car gave us no trouble whatsoever and we’d learnt a salutary lesson about buying cars from dodgy private dealers. I vowed that I would never do so again since I’d inadvertently put the three people I loved most in the world in real jeopardy and yet had not known a thing about it.
SUMMARY (3/10): I hated this car and everything about it. I knew the very first time I drove in it that I had to get out of it as soon as possible. I am ashamed that the first car my daughter ever went in, from the hospital to home, was this one. Of course, my wife would say that it was safe and modern with lots of safety features, air bags and so on. All that is true, but good God do me a favour, I’d rather have picked her up in a 1950s Land Rover Defender than that Peugeot.
My daughter, of course, is none the wiser, at least, until she reads this. However, I know and I can assure you, it wasn’t in the plan.
Even though it was the first car I had with air-conditioning and a multi-stacker CD somehow that didn’t weigh on my thoughts when I gave it a generous three out of ten.
Next time, it’s the Rover 800i (1994).
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