Is there anybody out there…?

Does anyone else, I wonder, feel that this recession has been just a little too easy? That might seem an odd thing for me to say considering that it cost me my job of twenty years, but hasn’t it been? For sure house prices have dropped a bit but my next door neighbour, keen to sell (was it something I said?) dropped his price fifteen thousand and got it gone pretty darn quick. That’s not much of a drop compared to the six figure rises that took place over the last ten to fifteen years. The dole queue went up a bit (this I know, having been on it) and then came down a bit. And sales of big ticket items (cars and holidays and whatnot) stalled quite badly and then got back into gear again.

This was the big one, this was the Great Depression of the 21st century. It brought banks to their knees and exposed trillions upon trillions of ill-advised lending, most of which was unlikely to ever come back. The country was in debt crisis, personal finances were in debt crisis, the balloon had well and truly gone up. Lots of scary graphs on the news, big red arrows pointing south, and worried small businessmen discussing cash-flow and debt restructuring.

And then… Nothing. A new government, a lot of stern talk about tightening of belts, new austerity, and then it was carry on chaps, nothing more to see here. Can it really be that easy?

It’s a question I ponder as I gaze out over the sea of polished metal on the other side of the plate glass windows of our modest showroom. Car sales has been quite good to me. The final quarter of last year spent trapped in the blind panic of needing to know everything instantly, and then I emerged into the new year finally getting some traction and powering forward. And I’ve shifted some cars I can tell you. Shifted some cars and earned some fairly decent money in the process.

Not now though. For the last couple of months it’s been scarily quiet. Not dead. But not far off. Like not seeing a soul all morning quiet. Not so good when you’re on a commission based income. I’m very lucky, I can live on my basic (and it is basic I can assure you), but there are one or two worried faces at work right now.

All of which makes me wonder, did we get off lightly last year? Or was the real recession simply postponed, put off like a debt addled household that managed to obtain another credit card in order to keep the plates spinning just that little bit longer.

Maybe the challenging times ahead we’ve been forewarned of for so long are finally upon us…

A happy anniversary

I sat in the cool quiet reception area of the spa and healthclub in a contemplative mood. The Blonde was still getting changed after our early morning swim to work up an appetite for a big cooked breakfast after a night of unmitigated luxury at the Devere Grand Harbour Hotel in Southampton. We’d escaped for a couple of days break, well earned after a frankly manic March of car sales (March being the first month of the new registrations, this year 10 plate). The Blonde, on the other hand, is always flat out busy so deserves a break any time of year. I reclined slightly in the comfy chair as I considered the fact that, coincidently, our five star getaway came almost exactly a year after I was made redundant.

Those that have been with The Blog from the very beginning will appreciate the gulf between job centres and job seeking that began at that time, and the sumptuous surroundings I now found myself in. It’s funny how life twists and turns, and it feels very much to me that one enjoys the up’s far more as a result of experiencing the downs.

The previous evening had been spent in the exemplary company of good friends at the Jolly Sailor, scene of the eighties-tastic Howards Way, and we had a clear day ahead of us before joining more good friends that night in Dorset. A tour of nearby Ikea beckoned, before we headed off to Portsmouth and Port Solent, a wonderful complex of shops, restaurants and houses set around a large marina. A sad reminder of the economic times awaited us however, as probably a third or more of the units of this once bustling oasis of leisure and retail stand silent and empty. We’re a long way from the edge of the financial woods yet, despite politicians and estate agents desperate efforts to talk up the market. All the talk in the world doesn’t create hard cash or financial liquidity, the lifeblood of the world of commerce.

Leaving Port Silent behind us we headed back along the M27 and up into the beautiful picture postcard countryside of Dorset, complete with achingly pretty villages and chocolate box cottages. Another evening of good food and great company, a comfortable night in their wonderful old farmhouse, and we were off again the following morning, stopping off at Shaftesbury to walk down Gold Hill, scene of the famous Hovis “Bike” advert, “T’was like taking bread to the top of the world, t’was a grand ride back though”.

Clarks retail outlet village in Somerset was the next stop, where I made out like the proverbial bandit, The Blonde finding it somewhat less fruitful unfortunately, coming away only with an admittedly fetching summer hat.

Then it was the long run home and a quiet night in before back to the reality of work and the real world the following day.

T’was a grand break though, and a world and a half away from life just twelve short months ago.

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.

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.

The Green Machine.

My lovely Panther Black Fiesta Zetec has been sold from under me (the perils of being in car sales, everything is for sale, even my own company car) and I’d been offered a choice of two of the courtesy cars to run temporarily until they could source me a replacement. One a Fiesta 3 door in retina searing green (inexplicably labelled “Squeeze” in the brochure and at extra cost even over option metallic!), the other a very demur but very boring dark blue Fusion diesel. Of course I took the Fusion, it might be dull but at least it’s discreet.

However I quickly realised just how badly I’d underestimated its dullness. The most exciting feature is a front passenger seatback that folds forward flat to make a table. Why? Because the Fusion is the pensioners choice and so a picnic table is the ultimate accessory. Think of it as the James Bond ejector seat for the blue rinse brigade. I can see Q now, “Since you’ve retired 007 I’ve made a couple of rather special adjustments to your new company car”. “Really Q, another Aston Martin with an ejector seat”? “No 007, it’s a Fusion diesel and the passenger seat cunningly folds flat so you’ve somewhere to stand the thermos and sandwiches. Oh and under the dash I’ve replaced the Walther PPK holster with a place for you to store your Whethers Originals”.

The pensioners love the Fusion, its high stance aiding ingress and egress and square corners making it easy to park. But good grief it’s a dull steer, the addition of a diesel engine robbing it of the last bastion of any merit to the enthusiast. Within a week (a week during which I’d never before spent so much time with the right pedal flattened in a bid to make the thing go) I realised the error of my ways and quietly swapped it for The Green Machine, the Fiesta with a colour so vivid you need to apply Factor Twenty sun cream if you want to stand within a metre of it for any length of time.

What a contrast to the insipid Fusion though. A tiny 1.25 engine meant it probably was no faster, but the way it revs and the way it seems to run on tiptoes, darting into and out of corners like an excitable Jack Russel puppy, are a revelation after the leaden OAPmobile. Worth braving the colour choice for I decided, and at least the British winter ensured it was dark and wet and dirty most of the time.

Then, over the following weeks, something rather odd happened. I found myself actually not wincing as I spied it glowing quietly to itself and braved a dark glasses dash for the drivers seat in the morning. I started to mind it less and less. Then, bizarrely, I found myself actually glancing back at it as I walked away and almost nodding in approval. Shortly after that I spotted a freshly serviced and immaculately cleaned one rolling out of the service bay and I actually decided it looked good. I had a quiet word with the cleaning pixies and when I returned to it that evening they’d sprinkled their magic pixie dust over it and all the carefully cultivated winter grime I’d acquired had gone, leaving the thing resplendent and shining like a new born shiny thing.

And I liked it. I actually liked it. It’s different and it’s funky and it suits the sporty youthful look of the car (if not the decidedly unsporty and unyouthful look of the driver). In the few short weeks I’ve had it I’ve been converted.

So would I buy one that colour?

Good heavens no, but it’s a bit of fun and it’s brightening up an otherwise dull winter.

Lead us not into…

It wasn’t even our dealership. Another company within the group had a customer local to us who was interested in a new car, and they were sending one up for him to see and so that they could have a look at his. Nothing for us to do except introduce them to one another and leave them to it.

I thought no more of it until a low sleek Saab 93 Aero Cabriolet swept onto the forecourt just after the new car had arrived.

Now everyone has their predilections. Some people like art, others are into fine dining or malt whiskies or horse racing or expensive watches (ahem) or foot worship. Hey, whatever floats your boat.

But I like, and I mean really like open top cars. And for strange and unexplained reasons perhaps linked to some bizarre childhood experience involving Swedish furniture I’ve always had a soft spot for Saab Convertibles.

This one was a classic looking 2002 car with only 48,000 miles. Silver with a blue soft top, full leather, air conditioning and the essential heated seats, I could hear it calling me softly from the other side of the plate glass showroom window.

I tried to put it out of my mind, I’ve only been with the company eight weeks, far too early to be spending money on expensive and unnecessary toys. (Yes alright Al, far too early to be spending money on any more expensive and unnecessary toys).

I made a quick call to the sales manager of the other dealership, was it coming in part exchange, any idea how much? Maybe, and not too mad a price.

Half an hour later I watched it glide quietly back out. I can’t, I mustn’t, I shan’t, I won’t.

Probably.

Just like Oscar Wilde, I can resist everything except temptation…

Death and taxes.

They burst through the door in a noisy explosion of pushchairs, Primark and under fives. Seems she’d just dropped her fourth and they needed a bigger motor. A brand new twenty two grand S-Max people carrier fits the bill rather well they’d decided, very nice too.

The finance appraisal was revealing. She didn’t work, he’d been working a few months as a building labourer, part time mind, don’t want to overdo these things. House all provided for them, naturally.

The new S-Max was out of reach, but a nice four year old low mileage model was within their monthly budget. At late twenties and with a couple of their kids happily destroying the showroom behind their oblivious parents I couldn’t help rather bitterly musing that maybe they were only another sprog and a nice ADHD carers allowance away from that new S-Max after all.

Those who’ve been with this blog from the beginning will recall my ruminating on the benefit system in this country before. It seems to me that very quickly into adulthood (and sometimes before) you’re designated a giver, or a taker. Either you relax into a warm bath of benefits, council houses and kids, and reward yourself with a shiny ten grand S-Max once you pass four sprogs, or you get labeled a worker bee and you get out there and you earn and you pay and you pay and you earn. And you pay. After all, someone has to keep the system afloat.

I had good reason to reflect on this a day or two after the S-Max family. Twenty five years of giving had entitled me to the princely sum of £64/week and a bit of help with the council tax when I lost my job. Not enough to finance a pair of roller skates. Or live on. Pretty clear which category I fall into.

Indeed, over my nearly six month period of unemployment I was able to claim the princely sum of precisely £1,240-08. A rather exact figure, but there’s a good reason why I know this. And it’s because a day or two after the S-Max family were in choosing their new wheels I received a letter from the Department of Work and Pensions.

It seems that now I’m back to my rightful place on the treadmill they’d like some of it back please. And to that end they’ve informed me that the entire amount is now liable for income tax and will be added to my earnings for the purposes of claiming it back from me.

A rough calculation suggests that £385 will be clawed back. Over a quarter of it! Absolutely staggering!!!

And bear this in mind, I’m earning much less than I was. Had I secured a job at my previous pay-scale I could have been taxed on some or all of it at 40%!

Still, I suppose someone has to keep the takers in fags, booze, satellite TV’s and five figure motorcars.

Benjamin Franklin once postulated that “In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.”

He was right. Especially about the taxes.

Innit.

Contestant ready!?

Remember Gladiators? Brilliant series screened in the early ’90s and more recently re-created on Sky although I understand without the same level of success. For those that haven’t seen it, it was an adversarial game show where members of the public went up against The Gladiators in various battles such as trying to swing via ropes from one platform to another whilst the gladiator tried to intercept and then bring them down. At the end of the show their score was transposed into a head start time in a race against a Gladiator around an indoor assault course, finishing with the dreaded Travelator, which was basically an inclined treadmill like a down escalator without steps which they had to run up. This took real determination as it was running at some speed and they had to outpace it to the top, whilst of course being chased (or chasing) a Gladiator.

Well the last six weeks has felt a little like that Travelator as I’ve raced like mad to try and learn the many and manifold procedures and systems without tripping and falling, sliding straight back down to the bottom again. And in truth that I don’t feel like I’m off it yet, but as things start to come together I’m able to run a little less hard and still feel like I’m making progress.

I’ve also managed a few days off for a mini-break with The Blonde. And boy, did I need them. A couple of nights away at a very lovely hotel by the coast was just what was needed to recharge the batteries, fall back and re-group. I didn’t realise just how very tired I was till I stopped (I think even The Blonde was surprised) but I felt absolutely drained. Fortunately the weather was perfect, strong winds and persistent rain curbed even The Blondes penchant for walking miles and miles, substituting instead a session in the wonderful spa facilities where the welcoming embrace of a heated pool and a wonderful jacuzzi helped sooth shattered mind.

We came home refreshed and renewed and I returned to the metaphorical treadmill reinvigorated.

In truth, car sales isn ‘t that hard. The challenge has been learning a completely new job whilst being thrown in at the deep end to just get on with it, which can be a stressful approach. In particular there seems to be no instructional process, it’s simply a case of muddling through and relying on colleagues for help and guidance which has, I fear, been frustrating for all at times.

So how’s it going? Well, I’m shifting a few cars, both new and used. And I think that once I get properly up to speed it’ll be ok. Whether I see myself doing it for another twenty years is another matter, but for the moment it’s a job and it’s an income and right now that’s paramount.

What I do need to try and do however is up the pressure on the writing side of things. And with that in mind I’ve been in touch with The Editor again to push on with the big test review I’m supposed to be writing. Like everything it’s proving not to be without it’s challenges. But that’s life and yet again we muddle through.

Muddling through, it seems to be the watchword for the moment…