The Rover’s bonnet catch broke at 70mph (long story) and the resultant damage to the bonnet itself, screen and surround put the thing off the road. Unfortunately, I had to go away for a few weeks. When I got home, unusually high winds had lifted the covering tarpaulin and the car was full of water.
I needed something quick.
This was an answer of sorts.
There were two downsides. Firstly, it was not a good car, however cheap. Secondly, it meant that the company didn’t feel too bad about taking the BX back off me.
I broke my wrist in two places and driving became difficult, so I had to find an automatic.
I sold the Princess for its tyres and picked up ‘the car you always promised yourself’. A 1.6 auto, it was possibly the worst spec Capri you could get, but it cost pennies and did the job.
As soon as I could drive a manual again, I flogged the Capri to a mate who was intending to beef it up – but only on condition that he also took away one of my garden sculptures (the M-B 250). The V8 was still damp and I ended up with another P6, a 2000 this time.
The 2000 was a nice enough car, but grossly underpowered and I regretted buying it. I needed something more capable of long distances.
This was the answer. Especially when I met my new love. She lived in Germany and I lived in Hampshire. I’d drive over for the weekend every fortnight, piling on the miles. The Saab never missed a beat.
Customs officers at Dover were a trial, though. At different times the car was sniffed at by dogs, had endoscopes shoved down its panelling, had seats removed. They’d always weigh the spare wheel; they’d even risk shoving their mitts into my dirty laundry.
Eventually, I got grumpy about it when they were removing the boot lining.
“Why me? You’ve seen me come through here often enough, and usually at about this time on a Sunday night?”
“Oh, it’s not you, sir. It’s the car.”
I got interested; I’d bought the car from a friend. “Ah. Does it have a history, then?”
“Not specifically – the model in general. There are lots of hiding places and they carry extra weight well. We have a high return from them. Smugglers seem to like Saab 900s.”
“So they should. They’re effin’ good motors. Now can you put it back together again, please?”
I wasn’t stopped again after that. If I’d known, I might have considered a new career running contraband.
