Ethel - Say Hello to Swindon
18th August, Perth, Australia
[Note: this diary entry includes some recent amendments. Originally, it told the story of us selling our VW Kombi. But we were telling fibs. Big ones. Ethel was not sold, she was sent to England in a container. However, we couldn't resist dropping a few hints along the way, and these are the phrases highlighted in blue. Heck, even the headline for this entry was a big hint. Sneaky? Oh yes. But such fun!]
Some days you just don't know what's gonna happen; you think it's just another uneventful day but then a few little surprises come your way. And sometimes those surprises are all good ones. Today was one such day, but first I want to backtrack to yesterday and a phone call that we received ...
Normally, if you have something for sale and someone says they want it for sure you'd be happy. We had got a call much like this before about Ethel, but in the end it turned out that the person who wanted it was very young (17 or so) and the real decision-maker where the money was concerned was mum. Hence, a call that started off along the lines of "Don't sell Ethel to anyone else please" ended up with us saying "We'll let you know" and leaving it at that. We could only consider their offer if we were absolutely desperate.
Over the weekend we had advertised Ethel in a couple of papers, and even took a colour ad in the Auto Trader, but we were not really getting any biters. A couple of people who did call were asked to check out the web site for the photos, so that they could see first of all whether our van was what they are after. It seems a sensible thing to do, rather than the prospective buyer coming all the way across the city to realise in a minute of viewing that it's not what they want (and it saves us waiting around for them, too). Of those two people who said they'd take a look, none phoned back.
The Phone Call
Yesterday, just as one heck of a rainfall came down, and just as I was about to pull away from the caravan park, I got a phone call from some guy who was speaking so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear, and he seemed to want the van but something just didn't quite feel right:
"Yeah, mate, I'm ringing about the Kombi ... "
"Well, it's still for sale"
"I want it. I wanna buy it."
"Have you seen the web site?"
"Nah, mate ... look, I wanna buy yer Kombi. I need a home now."
"Well, you might want to take a look at the web site - see if it's what you're after first, then give me a call b ..."
[Cutting in] "I need the van. I want it. I don't have the Internet."
"Can you get to an Internet Cafe?"
"Nah, look, I don't have a car, and I need a home, s'for me, me blue heeler (an Aussie breed of dog) and I need it now."
At this point you might be thinking DEAL! But the way he was shouting/whining, the fact that he knew next to nothing about the van, and the fact that our van was by no means being advertised with the 'desperate for something quick' brigade started to ring alarm bells. Was he winding us up? Was he just stuck somewhere needing a lift in the pouring down rain and hoping that a test-drive might be what he needed? Was he pissed as a newt? Was it all of the above?!
Me: "But you haven't even seen the van! How do you know it's what you want?" (Cos I really don't want time-wasters, especially ones that might very easily turn violent!).
"I just want to buy your van. I want it. Look, I'll give you $6,000 cash. Right now." [it was advertised for $5,700]
"OK, well I can't say yes right now as there are other people who have got to look at it and another that I'm waiting on to make an offer - I have to be fair to these people." His keenness for buying Ethel seemed all wrong. Could you believe that we might be turning down a sale? Gut instinct is a very powerful thing. "I'll have to call you back," I continue. "Can I call you later?"
"I haven't got a phone!"
No home, no phone, no means of transport, and he wants to buy our van. Sounds perfect.
"OK, then you'll have to call me back then," I say.
"How long?!" He seems agitated now.
"Gimme three hours," I say, plucking a figure out of the air.
"Oh bloody hell!" he whines, seriously put out by my stalling.
He ends the call, still moaning and bitching, and I look across at Manda and say "Did you hear all that?!"
So, we turned down an offer to buy Ethel, but seriously, neither of us thought that he was genuine. Frankly, he just came across as disturbing. And he never phoned back, - much to our relief, as it happens! [Because we didn't want to sell anymore ;-)]
This Morning's Call
So, I said that there were some surprises today. The first one came as we got close to Fremantle (aka Freo). A guy who looked at the van a few days back called to make an offer - a sensible one that didn't involve shouting or swearing or possible consumption of alcohol. This was it! Ethel has found a new home!
We met the guy just half an hour later in Freo and got a deposit, so there's no going back now [Note: this was all untrue, of course - this person didn't even exist!]. We need to get a few bits of work done first, and we haven't let the old girl out of our hands just yet, but it's only a matter of time before Ethel is sent packing for pastures new. I have a good feeling that she'll be going to a good home where she'll be looked after (strange as it is, I always wanted her not to go to another traveller, lest she get into a routine of being thrashed all the way around Australia until there's nothing left working on her poor old frame). Who knows, maybe we'll see the van again one day? Stranger things have happened - just the other day we were talking to a couple from England who were considering importing Ethel, so it's not out of the question. Unfortunately, though, we didn't hear back from them after their relatives over here in Perth gave the van a test drive.
I popped into an Internet Cafe in Freo and saw a message in my inbox entitled "Would Like To Buy Ethel". It was from the couple in England, and they had just missed the boat, so to speak. It turns out that they had been somewhat sidetracked by their holiday home being flooded back in Cornwall (a huge deluge swept away large parts of one particular village, even making headline news down here in Australia) and consequently they had been a little late in getting back to us. I had to reply, telling them the bad news - Ethel was already taken and would not be making her way to England in the very near future.
Soon after this stop at the Internet Cafe, we noticed that Freo's High Street was being barricaded off for some kind of parade. Moments later there was a huge cacophony of horns, sirens and music. At first I thought it was the fire service or an ambulance (well, the sirens at least), but it was a procession of cars, trucks and jeeps that had been taking part in a charity rally across Australia in aid of the Variety Club of New South Wales. It was called the Burramatta to Bather's Beach Run, and if my geography serves me right, means an 11-day drive of your life right across Australia, along some of the dustiest and most remote roads going. There was no sign of driver fatigue here, though, as everyone looked to be in a party mood. I don't know whether they do a procession in every town, but the final day of the rally is supposed to be tomorrow, so who knows?
A dirty-looking Herbie after a ride across Australia's back roads.
I was amazed at just how much red dust can cake on to a vehicle, both on the outside and in the interior, too. Some drivers had purposely avoided removing any dirt, except for the areas that they needed to see through (or that the police would insist upon), while others looked like they had just come off a showroom floor.
The side of the car reads: "I wish my wife was this dirty".
One of the strangest sights was a team of ladies in wedding dresses whose car decided to break down right there on the High Street. There they all were, in their white dresses, looking under the hood and getting their hands dirty trying to get the vehicle going again. Still, if you're going to break down anywhere, that's the place to do it, not in the middle of nowhere!
The Wedding Dress Mechanics - sounds like the name of a band!
So, that parade was our second nice surprise of the day, but we had a third: celebrating the fact that we now know what's happening with Ethel, we treated ourselves to a meal at KFC. Having collected the order, I spotted a jeep parked in front of us with the number plate 'SWINDON'. Not SW1ND0N or some other permutation, but the actual word. [For those scratching their heads at this point, Swindon is where we live in the UK.]
"That can't be an accident," I said to Manda, and decided that this was another photo opportunity - Ethel parked next to a jeep marked Swindon. As we pulled around the back of the jeep, I noticed that the spare tyre cover on the back had Swindon Town Football Club's logo on it and the words 'County Ground'.
This was getting freaky, and here's why:
- Swindon Town's grounds are on County Ground Road, just around the corner from Manda's house. Back in the UK, we would see the floodlights every day
- Swindon Town are sponsored by Nationwide Building Society, the company that Manda and I work for (when we're not taking year-long career breaks)
- Swindon Town have fans out here in Western Australia?! I mean, the first two items in this list were weird enough, but this last one was almost unbelievable ;-)
I had to find out more, and discovered that the jeep was owned by the manager at this KFC, but stranger still was the fact that he was originally from Reading, a town not too far away from Swindon and hence one of its arch-rivals where football is concerned. By all rights, he should hate Swindon, but there he was offering me a car sticker and telling me proudly about having his picture taken for the Swindon FC newsletter.
So, that kind of topped off our day. I don't know what to read into this - Ethel meeting a jeep called Swindon on the very day that we set the wheels in motion to get rid of her. Was she trying to tell us something? It's all getting too spooky for me!