Bentley Boys

Look at that! Look. At. THAT!! I bounce excitedly from cheek to cheek in my seat jabbing a finger at the screen. The Blonde wanders across from the kitchen where she’s preparing dinner to the dining room where the computer lives at Blonde Towers to indulge this weeks obsession. Squeezing my shoulder affectionately she gracefully feigns interest as I excitedly reel off the stats. “Royal Ebony Metallic with contrasting magnolia leather with black piping, six and three quarter litre turbocharged engine, full service history, and only 75,000 miles”. I flick through the photographs of the immaculate looking Bentley Turbo R, “that is so much car for eighteen grand” I enthuse as I lust after the thick Connolly leather and imposing walnut dashboard. The Blonde leans down and kisses me gently on the cheek “you don’t have a spare eighteen grand” she murmurs in my ear “and it won’t fit on your drive”. She has a point, to be fair, but I’m already gone, driving that Bentley across the Europe of my mind, The Blonde by my side, matching luggage in the boot, heading for an expensive hotel in Portofino where the doorman will nod appreciatively at my motor before reverently taking the key as The Blonde and I alight relaxed and fresh from several hundred miles of high speed transcontinental travel, Grand Touring the old fashioned way. I slip a fifty into his hand (I’m very generous with imaginary cash), “park the old girl somewhere safe” I tell him.

The Blonde is getting used to the flitting butterfly of my automotive obsessions. Only a month ago she was reading a text sent direct from the last Ford Capri ever made, parked inside the Henry Ford College last time I was there. As I sat in the car it instantly transported me to the bright yellow Capri 2.0S of my teenage years and that text confirmed that I had to have another. The Capri followed swiftly on the heels of a burning desire for an MX5, the ultimate in hassle free top down summer pleasure, eventually discarded for being too digital, I want something with more soul.

There was the Saab Aero Convertible that never was, and more recently a Volvo C70 Convertible that came closer to reality than you’ll ever know. A month of agonising over a near perfect low mileage one owner example that potentially came my way via a contact in the motor trade. GT spec it had everything I wanted, Pro logic hi fi, full leather, air conditioning, heated seats, cruise control, and on and on. Head fought heart and heart battled head, it was a cheap car, a good car, a well historied car. A car that could have provided wonderful summer cruising, top down, stereo on, chewing up the miles and transporting The Blonde and I to fresh adventures and nice hotels across the country. Eventually I had to concede that the timing was wrong, it was too soon, too risky. Buying it wasn’t the issue, potential expensive problems were, with a commission based income I’m just not reliably earning the kind of cash to shrug off any costly issues that crop up. Yet.

Of course now I’m middle aged a rich vein of dream cars of my youth swing dangerously into focus. The very first properly fast car I ever went in was courtesy of my parents next door neighbour, a BMW dealer at the time. Mid grey 635CSi, all shark nosed, delicately pillared and perfectly proportioned. They don’t make ‘em like they used to. The honey smooth savagely insistent urge of the 3.5 litre straight six engine and the incredible feeling of being firmly squashed back into the soft leather upholstery as the speedometer needle raced around the dial was one of the first experiences that really turned me on to cars in my formative years. Now that impossible dream of my youth teases me from the Pistonheads Classifieds with a full service history and BBS alloys, all for under ten grand.

A Porsche 928S, the ultimate Croker childhood fantasy, winks at me at £10K also. Spaceship styling, German build quality, 5.0 V8 performance and That Badge, how can anyone with petrol running through their veins possibly resist? But for all the reasons that apply to the Volvo, times ten, the Porsche stays securely on the pages of Pistonheads. A gorgeous Mercedes 500SL holds similar stock.

Yet I’ll never stop dreaming, and one day it will have to become a reality. Life’s too short and far too interesting to be sensible all the time. One day I’ll crack and The Blonde and I will move off the highways of my mind and onto real ones, heading south in search of open roads, warm sunshine, and fine hotels. As a very close friend and mentor has been known to opine, you’ve got to waste a little money sometimes. With a Ferrari F355, Porsche 911 Carrera 4, and Jaguar E Type (amongst others) tucked quietly away, he really ought to know.

In the meantime the trusty Fiesta rattles me happily (and financially painlessly) back and forth, The Blonde continues to indulge this weeks latest pash, and the current edition of Classic Car provides inspiration on my coffee table.

I’ll keep my powder dry for now, but the radar continues to turn…

Managing expectations

My new manager has pulled a bit of a blinder on my company car front. Well aware of my displeasure in recent Fusion motoring he was gently “encouraged” to steer acquisition of my new steed firmly in the direction of a Fiesta, ideally with a decent (read Zetec) spec, bigger engine if poss, and the Bluetooth handsfree phone connection would be a bonus. Wrap it up in a nice shade and he can colour me happy.

It took a few weeks but he did it. It sat outside, dark smokey metallic grey, the more powerful (that’s more powerful, not actually powerful) 1.4 engine, Zetec spec giving air con, alloys, computer thingummy, interior lighting pack (footwells, submarine lighting and so forth), bits of chrome trim and whatnot. And it came fitted with the all important Bluetooth, which automatically adds a much nicer central dash display, rear stereo speakers, and voice activation and dialling (touch the button on the indicator stalk and say “phone”, “dial number”, “Blonde” and I’m talking to herself in moments). Seems recent sales success hasn’t gone unnoticed, or unrewarded (quite apart from the increased commission payments).

The irony of it all is that barely two years ago I was cruising a beautiful Audi A4 convertible, midnight blue, Bose hi fi, heated seats, the works. Had anyone suggested then that a Ford Mondeo would be the order of the day I’d have been distraught. Now I’m eying up my new Fiesta and it feels ok.

Partly it’s down to changed circumstances. Back then I was using my car to go places for work, and had to look the part when I got there. Now I use the Fiesta to drive ten minutes to work in the morning and it sits round the back till it’s time to drive ten minutes home again, or fifteen minutes to Blonde Towers.

But it’s more than that, it’s all to do with expectations. Back then I was dealing with some financial heavyweights, most of those customers drove cars four times the price of that Audi, and often had something even more expensive tucked away for high days and holidays. It’s funny how the cars of those around you go toward setting levels of aspiration. Now I’m surrounded by new and used Fords and have customers rolling up in £200 scrappers in the forlorn hope of cashing in on the end of the scrappage scheme (now ended). Against that backdrop a new mid range Fiesta feels a perfectly reasonable steer.

It’s not just a matter of prestige however. That Audi was a seriously high quality piece of kit and, all questions of value, worth, or prestige aside, it was something I took great pleasure in running. It was a car I’d drive when I had no where to go just for the sake of enjoying the drive, and trips became as much about the journey as the destination.

But times have changed as have, for the moment, aspirations and expectations. And to that end the Fiesta is fine. It’s a looker (far nicer than any mainstream shopping trolley has any right to be), it’s a decent drive, goes ok, and has just about enough toys to keep my interest. In these new times of austerity it more than does the job, and to my own surprise I’m happier with it that I ever thought I could be.

Da Management

The big news at the dealership is a change of management! The previous manager decided he’d had enough of targets and paperwork and quit quite suddenly. A minor company game of management musical chairs ensued, and the manager of a smaller provincial dealership arrived a few days later to take the reins.

Young, keen, earnest and professional, this guy is chalk and cheddar to the outgoing manager, like-able chap though he was. Suddenly we’ve got someone who’s always there, always helping, always supportive. He’s taken some of the admin workload weight and he’s very much there to help us do business. And the difference is immediately apparent, my personal sales are up a good fifty percent, this last four weeks being my busiest ever by some margin on used cars (which, oddly, seems to be where the money is to be made rather than new).

I’m also starting to see some decent money from this, always a strong motivator.

As to the job itself, well I’m half a year in at the end of this month, remarkably. The paper-trial doesn’t get any easier (albeit helped slightly by the new boss) but I feel on top of it as regards used cars, and definitely getting there with the new stuff. However the ease that knowledge and ability bring is offset by the quantity brought on by increased sales. And Motability sales remain a black art of form filling, computer inputting and organisation that I’d rather steer well clear of for the moment.

So the overview halfway through my first year is one of a continued building of success, very much aided and abetted by the change of boss. The mechanics of the job are not too difficult once grasped, there’s just so very much of it and the skill seems to be in the juggling of it all and making everything happen on time which can get a little stressful. All in all though, it’s a positive vibe and we’ll see how the summer pans out.

So far, so good then, and with the support I’m now getting I believe it can only get better.

Fusgon

Text time: 15:32
Text recipient: The Blonde
Text content:

Hahaha, just sold the dreaded Fusion.
HAHAHAHA!!!
xxxxx

Message ends.

I disposed of the Fusion within 48 hours of being told that the only way out of it was to sell it. Its new owners a young couple with a new baby who just want simple cheap reliable transportation. Perfect. I even demonstrated the fold flat front seat as an ideal baby changing table. I have no shame when it comes to the politics of company cardom.

I drove off the forecourt that evening in a pale metallic blue Fiesta 1.4 Zetec with Bluetooth and voice activation. It felt like a result. My last comments to the sales manager were to the effect that I would be seriously unimpressed if its replacement was a similarly utilitarian box on wheels. He joked that he was going to find the car we’d had longest in stock and give me that from now on as clearly this was the secret weapon in terms of shifting undesirable metal. I laughed, nervously, and quickly changed the subject.

New company car Monday, fingers crossed…!

Fused.

Approaching the sales managers office I catch mention of my name, and enter to find him head bowed, talking softly into the phone. He looks up and motions me to a chair as the conversation continues. It’s bad news, I can hear it in the final few sentences, the set of his shoulders and the look in his eye. He replaces the receiver, looks at me sorrowfully and begins to unload his burden. “Look Charlie, you realise this is out of my hands don’t you, if it were up to me…” His voice tails off and I slump in my chair. “I’m sorry mate, it’s from on high, there’s no way of ducking it”.

They’ve discovered my surreptitious company car switch, I’m back in the diesel Fusion…

Now, let me make this absolutely clear, there is nothing, nothing at all actually wrong with the Ford Fusion. It’s not cramped, not uncomfortable, not ugly, starts and stops, steers left and right, does everything you could possibly want from a car. Provided you have no actual interest in cars. It is the white goods of the automotive world, the Bic Biro, the Casio digital watch. It works. And that’s all it does. It will get you from A to B with exactly the same anonymous anodyne functionality that your fridge displays whilst keeping your food cold. It does the job. But if you’ve any notion that a car should have a little chutzpa, a touch of soul, a smidgen of interest or intent, a hint of surprise or delight, steer well clear (unless that folding passenger chair/table arrangement does it for you).

I leave the office and kick the coffee machine, this is bad news. I try to cheer myself up with the thought that at least the 1.4 litre diesel engine will cut the fuel costs. And fail. I text The Blonde the news and receive a sympathetic reply. Even The Blonde, who operates on a slightly higher ethereal plane than my rather more materialistic approach to life, understands the blight of the Fusion (or perhaps is just being her usual kind and sympathetic self) and responds with condolences.

That evening I transfer my CD’s and bits and pieces out of the Fiesta and into the fusty Fusion. My sales manager has mentioned that the best way out of it is to simply try and sell it and I’ve already put a price board in the boot ready to hang in the windscreen the minute I arrive for work each morning. A colleague who’s also had his company car changed, rather more successfully, moves his gear across to his shiny new Fiesta Zetec. As I donka donka home in the OAPmobile I ruminate ruefully that I never thought I’d find myself mildly envious of someone getting a new company Fiesta..!

Fast learner.

We were doing well over 100mph in a dark blue Focus ST when we came across the brow and met the obstruction…

Yup, I’m back at the Henry Ford College for more Ford Motor Company indoctrination, I mean product knowledge, and after a classroom based morning learning about Ford finance, latest technology, Internet selling and showroom etiquette we’re onto the practical stuff, learning about Ford and their competition, plus a couple of items of entertainment, hot laps in a high performance Ford being one of them.

The racing driver sat next to me in the driving seat went from full throttle in fourth to hard braking with a delicious crackle from the twin pipes. A beautifully smooth shift into third, flick flack through the coned chicane and back onto the power to a hard warble from those twin exhausts. More firm braking and the car is tipped into a tightening right-hander at a frankly unfeasible speed, and I’m pressed hard into the left-hand bolster of the Recaro passenger seat, weight of my crash helmet pulled toward the window as the power goes back on and the car dances through the apex of the curve in a perfect four wheel slide. My very own personal Stig apologised that it wasn’t a Focus RS this session, but from where I sat, grimly hanging onto the grab handle, it felt plenty quick enough.

Two minutes later we’re back in the pits and I’m getting my breath back as the next victim climbs in. I stand and watch as the car moves gently out of the pit lane onto the track and the back end dips slightly as full throttle is applied once more. The car rockets off up the straight, banshee howl punctuated by a fast change into third at the red line and then fourth followed by a stab of brake light as it disappears over the crest toward that coned chicane. Awesome!

Prior to that I’d been driving the track myself in fast convoy with about twenty other cars, half of them Ford Fiesta’s, half VW Polos. The idea was to highlight to us the superb driving dynamics and superiority of the Fiesta over the competition, and the Polos had been drafted in to make the point. The Fiesta is a really great car on the road, and so it proved on the track, instructors at each end of the convoy were the racing drivers piloting the Focus ST’s that were to provide the hot laps later, and they weren’t hanging about. I drove a Fiesta first and just as on the road it sits on tip toe, steered by the fingertips and instantly responsive to input. It would be interesting to see how the Volkswagon compared. After a spirited lap we trailed back into the pits and all swapped cars, Fiesta drivers piloting Polo’s and vice versa.

But as I sat in the Polo waiting for the off I noticed something interesting. The Fiesta’s were all Zetec S’s, the sports model with the biggest engine (1.6 turbo diesels in the cars provided), bigger wheels with wide low profile tyres for enhanced grip, and lowered stiffened sport suspension for flatter keener cornering. Just the job for track work. But what were these Polos? Plastic wheel trims were the first clue, asthmatic engines the second, they’d pitched the sporty Fiestas against Billy Basic bottom of the range Polo’s, narrow of tyre, soft of suspension and three cylinder petrol of engine. Not that far off half the price of those top spec Fiesta’s then, so hardly a shock that they didn’t compare out on the track. Come on Uncle Henry, have the courage of your convictions, if you’re going to sell us on the Fiesta’s superiority at least go like for like. Would a base model Fiesta Studio with the equivalent 1.25 60hp petrol engine have put up quite as convincing a case? We’ll never know.

I did smile to myself as I spotted the ESP button in the little VW though, that much trumpeted safety feature of my last Ford experience, standard in the most basic of Polo’s, and, err, optional extra on even the top end performance Fiesta… (In fairness they are going to be bringing this in to the standard specification shortly, and rightly so).

Car football was a welcome and fun diversion. Intended to demonstrate the nippiness of a Ka we were given a target time of 40 seconds to punt a huge inflatable football down a course, 360 degrees around an inflatable Fiesta, and then punt it into an inflatable goal. My time of forty one seconds had to be unassailable. Three people got it in dead on forty…

Other highlights were a road drive comparison test of a Focus against key competition. I tried a Peugeot of some sort, pleasant enough car but fair enough, the Focus bests it. Then a similar set up with the Ka against small car competition. A Vauxhall Agila was my steed for this event, and the Ka does feel and drive better, but it’s hard to argue against the back doors and extra space in the Vaux. Tiny bit cheaper than our Ka too (and interesting, incidentally, to see that Vauxhall offer a “price guide” to download from their site, not a price list. Doesn’t smack of confidence).

All in all an interesting visit, albeit with a degree of overlap to my last course (which was intended purely for newcomers to the marque, this one an update for all Ford sales employees).

That should be about it for training in the short term, back to the showroom now to put into practice my newly generated enthusiasm for all that is Blue Oval.

Quite fancy a Focus ST though, wonder how many cars I’d need to sell before I could negotiate one of those as my company car..!

Condition stable.

I was doing probably close to 50mph in the dark grey Ford Focus estate when I came upon the obstruction maybe four or five car lengths in front of me. Even if the surface had been dry (it wasn’t) I knew I had absolutely no chance of stopping within the distance. I hit the brake pedal with everything I had and with the car virtually standing on its nose, anti lock braking system pulsing furiously, I wrenched the wheel hard to the right, missing it by what felt like millimetres. With no time to think I hurled the car back to the left, tyres screaming in protest, in a bid to avoid another impact. The whole thing was over in moments, car stationary, a sudden quiet descending.

Quiet apart from the uproarious laughter of my colleague and I, “go round again” he urged, wiping the tears of mirth from his cheeks, “faster this time!”.

It was the culmination of a two day introduction to Ford course for all new employees and we were in the midst of a hands on session to demonstrate some of the technology in the cars. We’d done a road drive in various models and were now at Donnington racetrack to learn about the benefits of Electronic Stability Program. Finally it was getting interesting.

How Electronic Stability Program works is basically this. A series of sensors monitor things like road speed, tyre rotation, steering angle, lateral forces and yaw forces. They determine from this what you’re trying to achieve, and what the car is actually doing. And if they sense the car getting out of shape it can reduce engine power and apply the brakes to any given wheel to keep the car pointing the way you want it to go and reduce or even stop a slide or spin. So, imagine you’re coming off a motorway at speed, down a slip road and round a left-hand bend. You’re doing 50mph when you hit a patch of oil that causes the car to start to slide. If (for example) the car starts to understeer (where the front tyres are losing grip and the car is sliding forwards toward the outside of the curve) the system will reduce power and brake the nearside (left) rear wheel in order to gently pivot the car back on course. It cannot overcome the ultimate laws of physics (try turning sharp right at traffic lights whilst doing ninety and you’ll crash regardless) but it will provide an excellent safety net that will help to keep the car stable and on line, and you out of hospital.

And it works, it really does work. The course they set us was on a wide open tarmac session with plenty of room to get it wrong or lose control. It started with a series of cones to slalom through which suddenly narrowed toward the end. Normally this would de-stabilise the car but ESP stops that happening with gentle tweaks to the brakes of individual wheels. Then a long right-hand bend to attack, another slalom and then a set of cones to create a roundabout. The advice here was to tip the car into the roundabout at speed and then simply floor the accelerator. Yup, give it everything. This is where the system really proves its mettle. As the car starts to slide the system simply backs off the power and refuses to let you go faster and you simply circle the roundabout at a faintly sickening speed with the car completely smooth and balanced. Out of the roundabout, a straight and then the section where we came in, a set of cones designed to simulate a sudden obstruction (such as someone pulling out of a side turning straight in front of you), with another offset section of cones to avoid immediately afterward.

Now imagine a group of car sales guys, all going round one after the other, all trying to outdo one another, and all getting faster and more confident with every try. On a wet surface. At a temperature just above freezing.

The fact that (despite our best, or maybe worst, efforts) not one of us spun a car says it all.

Brilliant system, and one that should be standard fit on every car sold (and I believe there are moves to make this so in the future).

Jagwhar

A recent panic regarding a pressing need for a tax disc for an ex motability car (hence unable to be taxed locally) and our driver snowbound saw me beetling up the dual carriageway to the nearby city one morning to visit the DVLA office and obtain said tax disc for a car which was due out later that day. The DVLA office is situated in the middle of a huge retail estate that also houses what must be almost every car marque currently available. Our group has four different franchises there alone!

Tax disc obtained it was time to leave, but a dicey combination of the bitter cold and middle aged plumbing left me in need of what I believe our American cousins refer to as a “comfort stop”. Unfortunately the only public facilities were a couple of miles in the wrong direction, but no matter, I had a cunning plan. I’d simply pop into a nearby car dealership on the auspices of picking up a brochure, and nip into the gents whilst I was there. Of course since brochures are free I had the run of pretty much any car make in existence to choose from so decided to go for a combination of nearness (I’m not getting any younger and pressing needs become ever more pressing with age) and prestige.

Just across the road I spied a Jaguar dealership. That’d do nicely.

Jaguar have come a long way even in the last few years. This once great marque was seen as close to the pinnacle of prestige many years ago, the chairman’s car, the prime ministers personal transport. But a combination of British Leyland influence (and build quality) in the eighties and bad product planning in the nineties (who on earth believed the X Type was a good idea) saw Jaguar limp bleeding into the noughties with an image that was more Arfur Daley and golf club wannabe than boardroom chic. Yes the prime minister still uses one, but Trousers Down Brown is hardly the ad exec’s dream brand ambassador.

Non the less I’ve always had a soft spot for dear old Jag, and I delight in their recent return to form with the cool and delightfully detailed XF and the Aston Martinesque XK. I hear they’re dropping the Jag wannabe X Type too, and I have very high hopes for the forthcoming XJ, a car that finally buries the whiff of tweed and pipe smoke forever.

I parked the company Fiesta (which, incidentally, has rather disappointingly stopped being vivid green and seems to have turned blue and sprouted an extra pair of doors) and pushed open the heavy glass showroom door. I was greeted politely by an immaculately coiffured salesman in an expensive suit and proper watch who enquired if he could be of assistance? I asked whether they had the brochure of the new XJ yet as my father had requested I pick one up for him. I did this for two reasons, firstly so that he wouldn’t want to take my details as a potential contact or engage me in conversation about the car (time and bladder were pressing), and secondly in case he’d clocked the Fiesta. I’d have hated for him to think I was some kind of timewaster who’d just popped in for a brochure and to use the loo’s…

Whilst he went to find me a brochure I popped to the loo and, mission accomplished, returned to the showroom. Our man from Jag had my glossy XJ marketing material all ready so I thanked him, bade him goodbye, and headed for the door. As I got there I stopped and took a last long reflective gaze at the beautifully furnished showroom, the glitteringly expensive cars, the church-like hush and the deep buttoned leather sofas that surrounded the expensive looking coffee table in the customer courtesy area.

And I thought “Hmmmm…”

PS. XJ Portfolio 3.0 V6 diesel, long wheelbase, in Lunar Grey, Cashew leather seats with Truffle contrast stitch and piping, Jet softgrain dash upper (anything too light just reflects in the windscreen on sunny days) and Canvas headlining, with Satin American Walnut veneers, and embossed Leaper on the headrests. 19″ Aleutian wheels, Bowers & Wilkins 1200w premium sound system, heated and cooled massaging seats front and rear, heated steering wheel with remote controls, adaptive front headlights, rear parking camera, DAB radio and digital television.

Cracking Kerridge.

I did it, finally I did it!!

Did a deal with a customer, sat down to do the inevitable paperwork, and got stuck into the dreaded Kerridge computer system fully expecting to grind to a halt and seek help. But as I filled in boxes and activated “Wizards” to choose sales options and ploughed on through it all gradually came together. Finally I finished on the operating screen with the customers details in, car details in, part exchange car details in, deposit taken, balance showing, right car figures showing, all in the right places and adding up. Scarcely able to believe my luck I tentatively hit “print”. And a perfect completed order form rolled off the printer like the answer to a million prayers.

Resisting the temptation to pull my shirt up over my head footballer stylie and run around the showroom holding the sacred document over my head and screaming I slid it in front of the customer for his signature before flourishing my own on the document and giving him a copy. Job done.

Well, job done apart from all the other paperwork of taking the deposit, creating a receipt, filling it in on the daily banking, doing a HPI check on the p/x, quoting and then proposing the finance, raising the finance paperwork, getting it signed, getting correct proofs of ID for the finance house, faxing the whole lot off to the finance house, getting the deal “confirmed”, raising the invoice and p/x invoice, getting a job card raised for a service and valet, booking the car in for a service and a valet, organising “Diamond Bright” paintwork and interior protection if the customer wants it, organising drive-away insurance, arranging a cheque for it to be taxed, getting fuel put in it, organising the used car warranty, filling in the warranty book, obtaining and preparing the V5, making sure we’ve got a valid MOT certificate (and booking it for one if not), preparing the hand-over sheet, finding the spare key that definitely went with the main key to the service department (and which they definitely did not get), making sure any accessories they wanted or the wheel trim that was missing and we promised would be fitted is there, organising the V5, MOT, and insurance certificate to obtain the tax disc, then later making sure we have finance payout, or taking the balance if no finance, providing another receipt for that, filling that in on the banking, making sure all the receipts go off correctly to HQ, running through the insurance programs we offer, doing the FSA forms to confirm eligibility and prove we’ve offered them, raising the invoice and paperwork for any of the programs they do want, running through all the paperwork with the owner, a full handover of the car with the owner making sure they’re happy with all of the operations, and finally making sure all the relevant paperwork goes off for archiving and that I have copies of it for my records of course.

Naturally that all applies only to used car sales. New car sales are far more complex…

Two days later I sold another and confidently sat down to create another order form. Only to find that despite filling in details of the part exchanged car properly and it appearing on the order form, it resolutely refused to enter the p/x car’s value. After much faffing I finally conceded defeat and sought out a colleague. Turns out there’s an anonymous little section where, if you click it with the mouse, a tick magically appears. Then it links the p/x car’s value to the order form correctly.

G’aaaahhh!!!!

So far, so good.

As Christmas approaches and life slows a little in the car sales world I come to you in a contemplative mood tonight. We’re still shifting metal but the joys of Christmas preparations are clearly taking their time and toll on potential punters and we’re finding a little slack in the day, which is rather nice actually. Time to slow down and take stock.

So where are we at? Or more specifically, where am I at?

Well I seem to be finding my groove, slotting in. The thick fog of admin is starting to become a little clearer, not gone completely but more of a light mist with fog patches these days. I can muddle through most of it with little intervention. The computerised customer handling/car ordering/deposit taking/finance arranging/order form creating computer system called Kerridge is still proving a complete mystery however. Bits of it I can cope with, some of it I’m positively adroit at, but stringing it all together? No.

The journalism side of things rumbles on at it’s inexorably slow rate, but I did finally get to do that review, complete with photographer and engineer so who knows, if The Editor likes what I throw together it could yet prove to be a catalyst for future options. We shall see.

That Saab convertible sadly never came in so I missed out there. Funnily enough I spotted an identical one on the motorway today, could even have been the same one in fact, and it’s such a lovely looking car. But I’m a big believer in fate and I guess it wasn’t to be. Probably too soon to be thinking about such toys anyway so hey ho, onward and upward, maybe next year.

The Blonde is still very much in evidence, more so than ever in fact. It feels almost like a proper grown up relationship, a novelty for me but in a very good and positive way. She is of course more beautiful, wise, kind, supportive and warmhearted than ever. (Hello Al!) And she’s keeping the Polite Hatchback clean despite the filthy weather, bless her! We’re even spending Christmas together, awww…

Other than that, all pretty quiet on the Western Front. I’m not a winter person, I prefer to hibernate and wait for spring. Actually I’d prefer to jet out to Sandy Lane or Necker Island for the winter months, but I may have to find something just a tad more rewarding than car sales before I’m able to make that a reality.

But as we drift quietly toward Christmas I have to report that after what can best be described as an “interesting” year the vibe generally is good. Whilst not quite the dream ticket, life at Ford is proving comfortable and financially supportive, and good place to hide and ride out the financial turbulence that I fear hasn’t buffeted it’s last yet, and I think if nothing else it will prove a good move for the future.

I’m sure next year will be the start of fresh challenges and adventures and a blog full of rants, raves, and raconteurs, but for the moment I’m feeling mellow, settled, happy and generally at peace with the world.

So it just remains for me to thank you for all your support and good wishes this year, it really has been and still is genuinely appreciated.

And wish you all a very happy Christmas.