Nothing to complain about...

Well, life's pretty good at the moment - endless small disappointments and several nagging doubts, but nothing that a grown-up person like myself can't get over without batting an eyelid. I even have a couple of whipping posts to lash in the event that it all gets too much for me - there's a couple of insurance companies who have pissed me off big time over the past few weeks, but who now want to try to do everything they can to make me happy. so I just have to keep phoning them up and being dissapointed, and they'll massage me into submission.

I've been on a big retail therapy kick since my car was broken into - an event I've taken as an opportunity to get rid of it and put a younger more racy model in its place. I mean, it had been good to me, loyal, always there when I needed it, good at what it does, but nothing so fancy that anyone would be jealous and want to take it away from me. There comes a time, however when a man is looking for something a little different, and just being there for me every morning, and looking after me every evening is just not enough.

So, it was straight onto Auto Trader, looking at all the sleek bodied Alfa Romeos and Seat hot hatches (though I'm not sick enough as to be interested in a VW golf - I never could stand posh totty, nor am I sad enough as to head over the tracks to look at anythig by Ford). Audi's held a facination for me for a while as I tried to convince myself that I was still looking for reliability over fun, but they were just too expensive for anything with any get up and go, and the ones I could afford had no immediate return. No, if I was to stray from the old dear, I wasn't about to do it with a matronly bavarian diesel - I wanted something that would give me a bit of a buzz when I woke up and caught a first glance every morning.

So I looked up a few Alfa 147's - 3 to 4 years old with 50,000 to 75,000 miles on the clock seemed to be in my price range, and looking thorugh all the online adverts, they sounded better and better as I listened to the cries of pain of the reluctant owners. Poor, unfortunate people who had to give up their bit of totty as they procreated too much, got married or were otherwise having to settle down in one way or another and buy a people carrier / Ford anything / Astra Zafira or whatever they are. This was the kind of car I wanted.

I was willing to scour the country, visiting out of the way parts of Scotland, Wales, Yorkshire and Lancashire to find the right one. It was with this fire in my belly that I made myself a little list, whittled them down to about five and started to make arrangements for time off work, hire cars and places to stay where needed.

Then the small doubts started to creep in - a report from an ex owner that the visits to the garage were often and that you were paying Gaultier prices for everything. A couple of web site reviews that said the same. The advice of an ex mechanic to make sure they hadn't been owned by a boy racer (or someone aged 45 who thought they were a boy racer). The video review that went on for 98% of its time about how good the handling is, but the engine could be a bit more responsive in the lower ranges, but then spent the last 2% warning about making sure you liked your mechanics as you'd have plenty of time to see them - and be prepared to had over a substantial part of your income to make sure they are well fed every month.

All of these dripped a little more fire retardant on the burning flame of my heart, but still couldn't quench the flames enough for me to change my mind. No, that can when I actually go t my hands on a couple of the examples on my list. They were good little cars, went well, went round corenrs well, seemed to be a good quality, but there was just something that wasn't quite right.

Then I HPI'd them. Ouch. They were both clean, and as expected with no recorded accidents, nothing nasty - but the mileage was always a little crazy. There would be at least one owner who did a massive amount of miles in a very short time, and at least one owner who looked like they just bought the car to admire it in the drive way. It didn't feel right. Each one seemed ot have had a little boy racer screaming around in it at some point...something I was trying to avoid.

I looked at the photos of those I hadn't seen with a fresh, more critical eye, and there were the little flaws I was hoping not to see - a wheel arch that was freshly painted (accident), a seller changing their mind about the number of miles (even though the odometer said 62,000) after I asked for the log book number and VIN so I could HPI his pride and joy - he admitted it had actually done over 140,000 miles so we said goodbye.

Maybe there was one out there for me, the perfect, not too unreliable, uncrashed, honest, unmodified Alfa 147 that I could hope to drive without breaking my patience and credit history, but for now I've given up the chase.

So what did I do? Well, I'm back with the old Peugeot 306, but I've gone for a younger one with a more sporting engine and gearbox (not good for those long cruises, but much more fun around town and out in the countryside). It should be almost as reliable as the last one, but will gie me a few thrills when I feel I need them.

There's a deep and meaningful insight in to humanity and society in there somewhere, but I can't be fucked finding it.