He never made it known, but Calum parted with his P38 very briefly before hunting it down and buying it back. You would imagine it was a wonderful reunion with trouble-free motoring. Think again. Here's Day 1.
I have two relatives in Peterborough that I absolutely adore. They do no wrong, and can tackle practically any task blindfolded. Phrases such as ‘excuse the mess’, when the floors sparkle, or ‘I’ve just made a boeuf bourguignon for dinner, is that alright?’ leave me in awe – the last time I claimed to have made something for dinner the inhabitants of my flatshare legged it out the front door like demented gazelle.
They ask for nothing and have worked ridiculously hard their whole lives to build a welcoming home – of which I was entrusted to look after while they visited London. This should have been an easy task, but a recent automotive arrival felt differently.
I lately parted with that tarmac abusing Saab 9000 in order to re-acquire my old second generation Range Rover in a fit of lust for the green oval. I shouldn’t have been delighted, with the P38’s colourful past for misbehaving, but I was – the Rangie was such a character I couldn’t see it go homeless. Rolling up into the gravel driveway behind the wheel of my Rangie felt like meeting an old friend after some time away. I was even looking forward to cleaning the interior while minding my relative’s home, however, waving them off, it didn’t take long for the P38 to begin its Home Alone-style activities.
Firstly, the Range Rover decided to mark its territory by dumping oil underneath where it sat in spectacular fashion, timing its oil seal extermination to a tee. Luckily, the gravel hid the extent of the staining on the pristine courtyard. I was confident I could blame the labradors for that one...
Not embarrassed enough with having soiled the picture perfect front garden, the P38 then decided it wasn’t going to start – having locked down the immobiliser. A quick call to Neil for a second opinion on the problem mostly resulted in laughter. So, just to bring back memories, the AA were called to get the cantankerous beast going again. Yet, when they arrived, the situation got worse – because of the automatic transmission, they couldn’t tow it out. After investigation, it needed severe electrical work and would have to be carted away on the back of the big yellow taxi. Oh joy.
Then came the announcement that they would have to take the wall down in order to get the Range Rover out, as the entrance gate was too small for the low loader to get in. Horrified at the prospect that my relatives would return to find their garden completely destroyed, I politely asked if we could try towing the car regardless – to which, after 15 minutes of pleading, they agreed. It was tight, and it took some time, but eventually the 4x4 was away on the truck for my first garage bill of the summer.
Welcome back, P38. You unspeakable lunatic.