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My
mobile phone rang. We had just
turned off the Autoroute at the most southerly point of our summer holiday, the
turn at Tarbes in the foothills of the Pyrenees ( a sense of déjà vu here ) on
our way to Lourdes. It was my
brother-in-law. My mother-in-law
had been resident in a nursing home for some years and had appeared frail but
not seriously ill when we had left the UK a couple of weeks earlier - but had
now clearly taken a turn for the worse. We
sat in a layby to consider the options. We
were 250 miles away from our caravan, night was closing in and we had a hotel
booked for the night. We decided to
press on and review the options overnight. Over
the evening we decided to return to the UK starting the following morning.
The day started well, we covered the 250 miles to Avignon at the highest
permitted speed and by lunch time were approaching the town.
"Lets call at the railway station and check train times" I
said. The
helpdesk was wonderful, we explained that we wished to travel to London today to
be told that there was a train in 20 minutes - or another in two and half hours.
We opted for the train at 4.00o'clock and ran out of the station, back to
the car and drove at high speed back to the caravan.
The fridge was emptied, the food consigned to the dustbin, the electrics
and water disconnected, my wife's suitcase packed and we began the journey back
to Avignon. Remember
my paranoia? Why, why, oh why did
the French decide this day of all days to dig up the main road through
Carpentras? Time slipped away.
The gentle trip back to the station became a race against time.
With minutes and seconds slipping away we pulled into the station
forecourt and my wife plus baggage leapt out of the car.
I roared into the station car park. First Floor, Second Floor, Tyres squealing on the up ramp corners, Third Floor, Fourth
Floor, you get the idea. On the
Fifth Floor I parked the car with scant regard for clearance on either side,
jumped out, locked the door and ran for the lift. Out into the forecourt, find
my wife grab the bags and run for the train.
( four minutes to go ). "Got
the tickets?" I gasped. "In
your bag" She said. "Got
the bag?" I gasped. "No" She said Revise
that earlier statement. My wife
plus baggage ( but not my bag ) leapt out of the car. Drop the bags, "Wait here" ( three minutes and counting ) and I turn and run at high speed back into the car park. Now I know I shouldn't have been running on the roadway in the carpark, I realise that the time constraint had confused me, I know the French drive on the wrong side of the road, but did he have to be coming so fast!! I
very nearly got out of the way - he very nearly managed to stop, but I rolled
off his bonnet and down the side of his car.
To my shame I did not stop. I
rolled, bounced, came up smelling of roses and kept going. Up
to the car, grab the bag, run back down to the station forecourt, keeping
carefully to the marked pedestrian footways , grab the bags, down the subway and
onto the train. Or very nearly onto
the train. "Ce Train, est il
le TGV pour Paris" elicited a Gallic shrug and a noncommittal
"Non". We
waited on the platform. The TGV sailed majestically, and slowly into the station
5 minutes late!! My
exertions had warmed me up nicely and I sweated all the way to Paris.
Our routing called for a change of railway station in Paris from the Gare
de Lyon to the Gare du Nord. At
Avignon they had explained that one hour was adequate for the transfer even
allowing for the fact that we would be required to check in for Eurostar 30
minutes before departure. The
TGV continued to sail majestically, and occasionally slowly through central
France and arrived in the Gare de Lyon 20 minutes late.
We ran off the train, down the platform and up to the taxi rank.
Thankfully, unlike St Pancras, there was no queue and we hurled ourselves
into the taxi at the head of the line "Gare
du Nord, s'il vous plait, a haute vitesse" I gasp The
taxi ride was neither majestic, or slow, and we arrived in time! On the Eurostar I phoned my son. " Meet us at Waterloo at 23.15 with the car" I told him, "You are going home (he lives in south London) on the train" My wife expanded the explanation. He's a good boy! Not
only was he there, the car was waiting, full of diesel and his girl friend had
reminded him to put a flask of coffee and a couple of KitKats in the car!
We were home just after one o'clock in the morning. My
wife is home, my mother-in-law has improved a little - but my caravan is still
in the south of France, and worse than that my car is sitting in a French
station carpark and the central
locking system on the car is decidedly unstable.
I should have mentioned it before, but there were more pressing matters. Up
until the phone call our holiday in France had been, taking everything into
consideration, not bad. We had
visited friends on the way south, traveled slowly and enjoyed a relaxed
journey. We had visited my cousin
on holiday on the Riviera, and also spent a magical day visiting the Isles
d'Hyeres off the Riviera coast. The
only fly in the ointment had been an irritating habit which the car had
developed. For
no apparent reason the car had developed a mind of it's own with regard to the
central locking system. The car
would lock, but after an indeterminate period, and entirely of it's own
volition, it would unlock the doors. It
remained immobilised, and the alarm continued to function. This was guaranteed to scare the life out of any
opportunistic sneak thief and had already caught me out on a number of
occasions!! So
there was some urgency in me getting back to Avignon to rescue the car.
It's
surprisingly easy. Book the
Eurostar / TGV tickets in the UK. Pick
them up at Waterloo, make sure you are routed through Lille and at Lille, while
you wait for the TGV upgrade your ticket to first class ( it's amazingly cheap). Avignon
was still there, although whilst we were away a French truck driver had taken a
large chunk out of the famous bridge, dancing either on or under the Pont
d'Avignon is not advised whilst trucks are running, and miracle of miracles, the
car was still there, and still locked. I
drove slowly up the caravan, opened the van, opened a bottle of wine, sat in the
sunshine and relaxed. All
I have to do is ensure the van is clean, all the food is cleared away, and
everything is left neat and tidy because I am coming back again in a month to
take the van home. A
leisurely drive home on my own, wind in my hair, soft music on the radio and not
a care in the world. I drove up the
high valley of the Ardeche, up into the Massif Central, open road, no traffic -
bliss. I
slept in Montlucon on the night of 28 August 2000. I mention this in passing because it was August Bank Holiday
in England, a date which has no particular significance in France, except,
except, it's a jolly good time to disrupt the holiday plans of "perfidious
Albion" I
pointed my car towards the coast, the soft music on the radio has been replaced
by a sombre news reporter giving information
about "démonstrations à propos du prix d'essence" and that
"les pêcheurs ont bloqué les ports de plaisance et les ports de
croisement". My French is good
enough, I may have a problem. Still,
plenty of time in hand, so press on! As
I approach Oistreham from Caen I see a large black smoke cloud lying over the
port. Now I know I have a problem.
I drive into the port, concrete blocks are laid across the entrance to
the ferry terminal, over the blocks straw has been scattered and set alight,
dense black smoke billows into the air. There
is an air of unreality. The ferry
passengers are sitting in their cars all over the town, a moderate force of the
gendermerie are standing, legs apart, arms folded, watching the fires and
the smoke. No-one is trying to put
out the flames. In the far
distance I can hear the sound of a siren - if it is the Sapeurs/Pompiers the fire
will have died of its own volition long before they arrive! I
park my car on the pavement and in the fullness of time a fire engine inches
down the road. This is not really
my concern - the passengers on the dockside - and the passengers who have not
yet been permitted to leave the ferry were all due here at 4.00pm about two
hours ago. My ferry is not due to
dock for another four hours. Did I
mention that this was in fact the day before the "formal" strikes and
blockades started? Could this be a
photo-opportunity for the Press? I walk into the ferry office and ask how long my ferry will be delayed. " Your ferry will arrive and depart on time" I was told by a
very friendly and helpful member of the terminal staff.
"The demonstration will finish at 8 o'clock and then everything will
be back to normal" To
my complete amazement she was completely correct. At 8.00 o'clock the demonstrators loaded their placards into
their white French vans, the Sapeurs / Pompiers hosed down the road, a fork lift
truck removed the concrete blocks ( and placed them conveniently to hand for the
next occasion when they would be required) and the gendarmes and demonstrators
melted into the night. Vehicles
flooded off the ferry and into the already overcrowded town and as I enjoyed a
leisurely dinner the overheated and by now excited passenger inched their way
onto the boat. They left 5 hours
late. And my ferry?
My ferry arrived and departed exactly on time just as I had been told it
would. Just occasionally some
things do seem to go right!
I
spoke too soon!! We
live in the Trent Valley - on Tuesday November 7th in the year 2000
the river burst it's banks and flooded the village. I'm sure you remember. The
worst floods for fifty years. But
I'm getting canny. I parked my car
just outside the village on the high ground for safety - and someone reversed
into it!! Pictures Drivers
side headlight smashed, bonnet wrinkled, glass on the road, steam out of my ears!
But it's a civilised village. The
perpetrator held up his hand and admitted it was his fault. I
even felt sorry for him. He had
taken the day off work, spent the day in village helping the villagers with
flooded houses and had returned to his Discovery and his wellies had slipped off
the clutch! I
got into the car and drove home. As
I parked it on the drive my wife said "That back nearside tyre looks
flat!" She
was correct. So with the rain
falling steadily, the river rising inexorably I set about changing the wheel.
"Must have picked up some glass as I drove away"
I thought. Next
morning down to ATS to have the tyre repaired.
Back at lunch time to be told " We had to fit a new tyre, the side
wall of the old tyre has been split" Now
the only thing that could have done it was the accident.
The car must have been pushed backwards violently enough to burst the
tyre. ATS endorsed the invoice to
say that the damage was compatible with the wheel having been forced violently
against the kerb. I
had already contacted the insurers and a terrible sense of foreboding and deja
vue is beginning to descend over me. "
Book the car in with an approved repairer and they will provide you with a
courtesy car " my broker said. "
Oh no - no courtesy car", the repairer said, "You haven't paid the
additional premium" "I'm
not paying for the repair" I said " the other insurers will pay"
"Sorry,
no courtesy car" Back
to the broker. "Fix a hire car
with the uninsured loss insurers" I said, and they sent me a claim form. Three
days later a phone call from the broker " The uninsured loss people won't
play - they say you will get a courtesy car" So
change the repairer to one who would offer a courtesy car.
I really didn't feel any sadness when the first
repairer announced they had ordered and received the parts required for
the repair - and that Peugeot would not accept them back!! So
one week later I take the car to the new repairer. In the interim I washed the car, and discovered a small
wrinkle in the roof which was certainly not there before the accident.
I point it out to the engineer. "Couldn't
possibly be anything to do with the accident" is his response "Well
I have had this car for 6 years, driven it 126 thousand miles, hand washed it
more times than I car to remember, and that wrinkle was not there immediately
before the accident and it is now" is my response.
The engineer agrees to bring it the attention of the assessor. Deja
vue is really setting in now. "
The last time the car was damaged" I murmur gently " the car was off
the road for eight months and no-one believed me until the vehicle was
independently assessed and finally put back on the jig". I
leave an unhappy engineer and drive away in their courtesy car. Why
do they call them courtesy cars?? My
car is a top of the range Peugeot, admittedly old, but lovingly cared for, with
an automatic gear box ( new last year!), cruise control and air conditioning
with climate control, electric central locking and radio with cassette player. The
car I have been given is a Ford Fiesta (admittedly new) with nothing except a
radio, and not even wheel trims! And this is supposed to be a courtesy?? The
most charitable thing I can say is that it seems to me to reflect crass
discourtesy!! I
wait for information from either the repairer or the insurance company Watch
this space Within a week the car was back and beautiful - only the un-insured losses left to recover I am amazed I got the car back on Friday 24th November 2000. One week later I was driving into town. The road from the village where we live into town follows the route of an old lane, over the railway line, over the canal, along the canal towpath and then by a leisurely and rural route towards the town. Over the last twenty years a new estate has grown up around the lane, with rows of houses, a school - and parked cars!! The road has been widened a little but the cars parked alternately on each side of the road provide chicanes for budding Formula One drivers. I was proceeding ( as they say ) along the road well below the maximum permitted speed of 30 miles an hour when I saw the car coming towards me. He was moving fast and realised too late that the road was too narrow for him to pass the parked car directly in front of him without driving straight into me. He hit the brakes. The wheels locked, smoke poured from the tryres and all I could do was sit there whispering under my breath " Please keep straight, please keep straight!!" He kept straight. Straight into the parked car ahead of him. The contact was sudden and brutal. The parked car was shunted 12 feet backwards and the front of the offending car crumpled and bent. Glass showered onto the road from the shattered headlights of both cars and both came to rest. Nothing hit me!! No-one was hurt - the crumple zone and seat belts worked but both cars looked very sad. The driver of the parked vehicle appeared from a disturbed breakfast and was surprisingly calm. Insurance details were exchanged and within minutes the driver of the offending and now very bent car had driven away - I rather suspect he wished to be elsewhere by the time the police arrived - I did wonder about the depth of tread on his tyres. I resumed my interrupted journey The saga continues. Once a month I go out to have dinner with some
friends and colleagues. My neighbour is part of the group. I picked him up and
drove off. "It sounds as if your rear wheel bearing has gone" he said. I laughed, after all he's only an a highly
qualified research engineer who has spent a life time investigating and curing
vibration problems in aircraft engines – what does he know about car wheel
bearings?? About five minutes later I picked up the
second friend. He climbed into the car and settled down.
Before we reached the end of his road he said " It sounds as if your
wheel bearing has gone" I phoned the garage for the next morning. I drove the car down to them.
Now even I can feel the regular click and thump – paranoia!! As I entered the showroom I was greeted by
gales of laughter from the mechanic who looks after my car "I think the rear wheel bearing has
gone" I said He laughed!. We went for a test drive. "Your rear
wheel bearing has gone", he said I left the car with them! I went back to collect it the next day.
"The wheel bearing had gone," he said, “ but it was the one on the
rear near side. “ That's the tyre that was burst during the
accident in November!! It seems highly likely at the wheel bearing
was damaged during the accident and that the driving over the last four months
has finally caused it to fail. It might be possible to recover the money from
the insurance company but I have lost my appetite for the fight. I have notified
the broker, but I have decided it isn't worth chasing the claim. But the saga did not. I ordered a new car two
months ago it was due for delivery in May. At the end of March the garage phoned to tell
me that the new car had arrived. I agreed to collect it on 1 April.
The price had already been agreed but for some reason the garage seem
unwilling to offer any sensible price for the old 605!! Mind you, I am not surprised - they know my
car well. They recall the accident in France and the
protracted insurance claim. They know I pulled the transmission out of the
car a year ago – but of course it does have an almost new gear box now! They also know about the recent accident and
of course they have just replaced the rear wheel bearing. I can understand why they do not want it. So I shall keep it to pull the caravan to
France in the spring and bring it back in the autumn.
W e will also use it to drive around the town Postscript The 605 pulled the caravan to Provence
faultlessly But the saga may go on………….!!!! The new 607 took us to Provence at Whitsun. It is fantastic!!! |
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