Friday, 11 November 2011

Bloody bloody Volvo

So I am really Mr Sensible. I know you may be a little surprised but I quite often do the smart and right thing. So when I needed a bike carrier for the Volvo XC70 AWD 2.5 SE Auto (as Congestion charging for London call it) then I naturally went to Volvo Exeter to buy. £370 later I had a bike rack made by Thule, supposedly the best on the market. I took it back once as the straps for the tyres didn't work well, cheap plastic rubbish. Foolishly I accepted an exchange.

Today I went in the rain carrying three bikes to get them in for service at Hot Pursuit in Totnes. Got there and the bloody, bleeding, cheap, rubbish,crap, plastic, rip off aaaaarrrrrgh wouldn't undo. So I stood in the rain for twenty minutes before it finally came undone. Mad by then' as one is I set off for Exeter to visit Kastner Volvo and choose a window to throw the bike rack through.

Just outside Ashburton on the A38 at 90ish miles an hour I felt a slight juddering. Thinking that the earth had finally moved for me as a result of something that had happened many years ago I carried happily on.....

for about three feet when the tail started to swing a little. At first I thought the rack was trying to escape but soon (a millisecond) I realised it was a puncture. Displaying inordinate skill I pulled over and was fortunate enough to be able to turn off immediately up a narrow lane. I stopped, confirmed it was a puncture and then looked for a tyre changing spot. Found a farmers gate and commenced action. By this time it was absolutely pissing down and the run off from the fields was flooding my trainers. I eventually got the useless and difficult to turn jack out, lay down in the lane and looked for the jacking off point. That's when the smell hit me. The bastard lazy farmer had spread shit all over the lane as well as the field and the rain had turned it into a glutinous mess which attached itself to my front as I lay prostate and prostrate in the stinking lane. Eventually it was all jacked up, the large heavy tyre was off and I went to get the spare out, thinking of shower and then drinks.

Those bloody Swedish meatballs, why do they flipping well do it? A feckin doughnut not a real tyre with a max speed of 50kms. I kicked things, which only served to aggravate the toe ruined by a crap orthopaedic surgeon (another story), cursed and cried but eventually got the Krispy Kreme reject on. Stinking of bull shit (literally) I got back in car, removed a few layers and drove back to Totnes to get a new tyre. If you were the five lorry drivers behind me in the spray on the A38 between Ashburton and the Totnes turn, you can all fuck off, you Yorkie scoffing , horn blowing low life gits. Its not my fault I was going at 30mph it was Thule's.

The garage in Totnes had no tyres but they were damned good and phoned around until they found one for me and so now I shall be driving to Plymouth at 7am to get one but goddammit i am resuming my journey to Exeter after that.

Look out Volvo

Oh yes I forgot to mention. I left on Monday for London, then Wednesday to Rochdale, Thursday to South Wales and home today. About 800 miles in total.  I just wanted a relaxing bit of exercise. So just who the hell has got it in for me and why?

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