The car. There she is. Lovely in so many ways. But she needs a service.
Oh joy. The kind of joy that is only made more joyous by a lengthy trip to the dealership 40 Yorkshire miles away (the kind of miles that take in every hill, dale and a bit of the M62 to boot), the prospect of losing my wheels for a couple of days and bidding farewell to a sizeable chunk of my wallet.
Thing is, Porsche go out of the way to make it more of an experience than a chore. It really won't be that bad, I tell myself, as I drop off the 911 at the service centre in Leeds.
It gets better very quickly, as they soften the blow of parting with the keys by offering me a test ride in this little baby:
Whilst I’m really not in the market for a new car, who can refuse a quick spin in a legendary motor?
After a scaring myself silly with an over-exciting right foot/accelerator interface, I pulled back into the showroom. Maybe not for me, I explained to the kind sales staff. The yellow seatbelts to match the yellow brake callipers are just a little too natty for my taste.
But the Porsche experience doesn’t stop there. Would we enjoy a spa day out to fill the (temporary) Porsche-shaped hole in our lives? How much work does the car need? I start fearing for my wallet.
Finally, buffed and relaxed and thoroughly spoiled (we were at least) we get the call. She’s been released from the engineer’s tender care and I can drive her home back down the M62.
Straight over a bit of motorway junk that blows out the back tyre. Not a bit of the experience I’d like to repeat. Especially as every white van driver in Yorkshire took great pleasure in beeping and waving at the broken down sports car on the hard shoulder. Waving back gets a bit tedious after an hour or two.
Once she was loaded onto the recovery truck we headed off back to the moors. Just a £400 tyre to replace and the now a-little-too exciting servicing experience would be over.
I have to confess to wanting to check every little thing – I’m very fond of that car and I’d hate for her to come to any harm. So of course I had to check the car was securely loaded onto the flat bed. Unfortunately I wasn’t so careful about my own security and the wind and surface proved a bit much for my balance. I slipped off onto the flags. Quite a hard landing. Quite ouchy.
Rounding off the day being driven to A&E by my delightful wife was not quite how I anticipated it panning out. A couple of hours being patched up seemed to top it all nicely. I emerged, arm in a sling, and unable to drive for a few weeks.
What an experience. At least the tyre was insured (one of the perks of running an insurance company, and one I'd recommend) and the truck returned to take the 911 back to the Porsche showroom the next day for a bit more tlc.
I think news of my little misadventure must have reached the showroom…