Doors & Estate Cars

Last week I bought a door off the internet. I am an occasional ebayer and only out of necessity. Not for me the bidding in a mad moment (god knows there are enough of those assigned elsewhere) and then trying to remember what the hell it was you wanted so badly when the package turns up. No. I like to do it the Catholic way: loads of angst, consumer guilt, second, third and fourth opinions, wielding of tape measures and a damn long drive on top. Then I feel like I’m really saving money baby.

On the same come the day, come the door was the big one – the Grand National. This (and Classic Race Days) are the closest I can come to the feeling that football fans have on a big match day. I get up and start twitching. To allay the twitch I get busy. I become prolific on the laundry front, I go to the beach, I palm off the youngest on the neighbour and set off in to the unknown in pursuit of a door. Because it’s the unknown and because my tape measuring is not entirely to be trusted I have rung my father. The door I want to fit in my car (the German one) is borderline. I may need ropes. I may need wooden crossbars. I need a second opinion.

So I land with zero notice in Suffolk and get my Dad measuring. I have only a CSE Physics to my name and a pass at O’ level Maths. My father has a degree in Physics and a PhD in Operational Research. Who would you rather have brandishing the tape measure? It was thus decreed that the VW Passat would be the vehicle that would (just) be able to take the front door.

Now whenever we make a major purchase in this house we have a power battle. A stand-off that can last months. He who can walk onto the end of the counter punch the longest and remain standing wins. When we bought the German car, I wanted a different make of German car. A VW. Because they are more practical. I have waited 6 long years to be proved right, but right I am.

So I drove to Suffolk. Switched cars from the useless and poky BMW Tourer to the capacious VW Passat Estate (Diesel) and was chauffeured across the the flattening landscape into Norfolk (next stop Scandinavia) where the door went in the back with a mm to spare, as per Dr Russell’s prescription.

This photo doesn’t have a lot to do with the price of fish or doors on ebay, but I have driven past it umpteen times recently so I hopped out and took a snap when I had taken a wrong turning.

Great Leighs, where the doors are firmly shut

Posted on April 12, 2010, in Be not idle, Consumerism, Horse racing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 11 Comments.

  1. Stephen Foster

    * Now whenever we make a major purchase in this house we have a power battle. *

    As far as I follow this post, Mr Diva got the car he wanted, which is only as it should be. Where’s the power battle? : )

  2. You forgot the act of contrition, penance and firm purpose of amendment for the full Catholic monty!

  3. Well he is the Guv’nor after all!

    (yeah right)

  4. …by which I mean I can throw a mean uppercut myself.

    The secret’s in the swivel

  5. Dad + daughter + ebay + tape measures + logistics + German cars = a compelling but possibly dangerous combination.

    I agree BMWs are poky (I mean in the sense that that the are small not fast, spelling could well be wrong, apols). I mourn my Golf and whimper when I visit it in its new home.

    More importantly, where is said door?

  6. In the dining room leaning against the radiator, along with three bikes, two scooters, the piano and some roller skates.

    Of course!

  7. Stephen Foster

    I reckon it’ll be there for a while too.

  8. Well at least until the front of the house is painted.

    Soon come as they say in Jamaica.

  9. Stephen Foster

    Fact of Life No 279:

    No man ever approaches the hanging of a door with joy in his heart.

  10. If not joy what about a song?

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