We’ve all done it. Stared at an issue with one of our cars for weeks, reluctant to spend the money for the repair. Surely there’s a cheaper alternative, we ponder? So we trawl eBay, peruse forums for a miracle cure, and generally let it gnaw away at our subconscious.
Sometimes, the dreamy, too good to be true solution presents itself. Sadly, it never actually solves the problem. What follows is a precautionary tale about cut-price repairs...
Our two protagonists are my brothers. One is a mechanic. The other once successfully changed a light bulb. Allegedly. The latter also once bought a round of drinks. The family still celebrates the anniversary of that special day. Let’s just say he’s very careful with his money. He’s an expert at finding impossibly good deals on car parts, of course. Very often they end up costing my mechanic brother many hours of his life as he fits them, they immediately break and then he has to order real parts and do the job again.
“I’ve found a new hood for my Volvo,” the conversation starts. “Only £350 fitted.” The going rate just to supply a new hood for a convertible C70 is around £1,200. This one would be used, of course, but removing an entire roof mechanism and fitting a replacement would surely take many hours. Why would anyone do it for so little money? These and many other questions remained unanswered as the brothers headed east to a mystical Volvo fettler.
The workshop was, in fact, a field. A field littered with decaying Volvos. The temperature hovered around 5°C. There was no kettle. No shelter. No toilets. Yet the brothers were undeterred. Work commenced whilst they shivered and regretted skipping breakfast. It was an ordeal, but would be worth it.
The workshop was, in fact, a field. A field littered with decaying Volvos
Around three hours in, the WhatsApp messages started to flood through. Brother One, the mechanic, was growing livid. After the initial flurry of activity, progress had slowed. They didn’t have so much as a bottle of water or chocolate bar between them.
It was “bloody freezing”. Furthermore, some new medication was causing digestion system anxiety. Brother Two tried to overcompensate for the unfolding drama by being absurdly, annoyingly chirpy.
At 4.39pm – close to seven hours since the job commenced – I ask if they’re home yet. Things have taken a dark turn. Brother One responds in his best Anglo Saxon. “No, it doesn’t f****** work. He is swapping the f****** roof back to the original.” I’m at my Mum’s and send an image of a roaring open fire in reply. It is not appreciated. By 5.25pm even Brother Two has lost his optimism. “It’s almost pitch black and nowhere near done. We may never return.” By now, Mum and I are in tears of laughter.
They do make it home. Old roof refitted. It remains inoperative, but now the side window mechanism is broken, too. After nine hours, our heroes endured a 90-minute drive with cold air rushing in. Not a bad thing. Brother One’s medication struck at 6pm. His pants are soiled. Instead of cleaning himself up, he performs his own kind of dirty protest in the passenger seat. Brother Two will never take the cheap option again. Until next time.
