A Faulty Starter

I have to be honest, to admit this is a hard thing to swallow.  My car has broken down. Again.  If anyone has read my post 'To Birmingham and Back...' it won't be difficult to understand that this is a truly awful thing to happen, as I feel I live in the Twilight zone.  My car is my saviour, sometimes it's almost me and him (he's definitely a man) against the world.

I've had it for 6 years now, and to lose it would be like losing a limb.  I've relied on it so much, we've been through thick and thin, boyfriends, tears, we've had highs (when we make a destination) and lows (plenty of roadside recoveries).  The car really deserves a name, but after the demise of my first car, Freddie (a 1988 VW Polo), I just couldn't quite bring myself naming this one.  It didn't feel right. 

Freddie is another story altogether and reminds me of my youth - those care free days of teen years.  He also went up in flames.  One New Years eve, whilst on an everyday errand, smoke started rising from the engine and into the car - I won't forget the stink of burning plastic.  I pulled the car over and shortly afterwards the engine burst into flames.  In my blind panic and shock I obviously had 'safety first' on my mind as I locked the car door.  Although, in hindsight, I don't think anyone would have tried stealing anything from a car that was on fire.  My father thought I was over reacting when I rung him up with the news my car was in flames.  Thankfully a lady had called the Fire Brigade and the road was shut off - my father and brother had a shock when they arrived on scene.  So that was the end of Freddie; I'd spent hours cleaning him, had passed my driving test in him and I was very fond of him.  It has been like a quick and intense romance, never to be repeated.

This lump (said with affection) is nameless but nevertheless, we've been through a ridiculous breaking down history.  When it breaks down I just want to hit my head against a wall, it's the most annoying thing.  It's inconvenient and expensive.  The first problems began not long after buying the car in October 2004, I had bought it through the garage my brother used to work at - it had been part exchanged.

Unfortunately the UK is not the driest of countries, especially in winter.  My car decided it didn't like the rain, and going through puddles was not for it.  Shortly after driving through a puddle it cut out, leaving me stranded and blocking quite a busy cut-through road during peak commuter time.  I had to wait to be rescued by a friend from work.  I wish I could say this was the only time it happened but I'd be lying it, it did it several times more, sometimes at night. 

At this point in my life the AA became a very good friend of mine.  I'm not sure how many times I called them out but I was always glad to see them.  They'd try and sell me the next level insurance up, I'd just smile and say no thank you. 

I won't bore you with all the times it's broken down (I think it may take me forever to recall), all I can say is with most situations 'I've been there and done it'.  Stranded by the motorway, just off busy dual carriageways and in the snow.  I have to say being honked by women on the school run in their great big cars was amusing.  I don't know why they thought I would voluntarily stop on a T-junction with my hazard lights on.  I wouldn't like to repeat the words that fell out of my mouth, but I was pleasantly rewarded with their shocked faces.

I eventually had to leave the AA because I had made too many call-outs and they wanted to charge me a premium for the privilege.  It was a sad day when I left.

I love this one (it's a 1995 VW Golf, a car of the solid variety) but it drives me (quite literally) round the bend.  In my mind it's like a man, sometimes reliable, we'll travel miles and back with no problems whatsoever and sometimes it will stick it's heels in stubbornly and won't budge.  Like today.

Starting up with a nice bright rumble, we had no problems getting off on our planned journey, however after remembering I had forgotten the items I actually needed for my trip, I turned round half way down the road.  Returning to the car with my belongings, I tried to restart the car. Nothing.

I had to wait until the return of my brother until I got the diagnosis (my new RAC cover doesn't cover me outside my house).  The starter motor had gone and there was nothing to be done.  My brother, a fully trained mechanic has agreed to fix it on Saturday (and probably demand my gratitude for the next month).  I am of course grateful, it saves me a lot of money - those who own cars will know how garages rip them off, the cost of labour is extortionate.  However, until then, I have only my bike to carry me out of this village.  It's going to drive me mad.

You're probably thinking that I should get rid of this totally unreliable, ancient specimen and trade it in for something newer.  But I can't.  Not yet.  Not until it dies on me completely.  It really is a love/hate relationship, there's no other way to describe it.I'll be at the end of my tether one minute, tearing my hair out, ready to send it to the wreckers yard...then after I've calmed down I won't consider it. 

We've got this far, there's no point in giving up now.