Joanne Jarvis - Oh, please keep it simple!
YOU would have thought buying a car would be straightforward. Think again. When I went into a garage to enquire about a new set of wheels I was baffled. It wasn t so much on the model or the make I wanted, or even the colour. I knew exactly what I wanted.
YOU would have thought buying a car would be straightforward. Think again.
When I went into a garage to enquire about a new set of wheels I was baffled.
It wasn't so much on the model or the make I wanted, or even the colour.
I knew exactly what I wanted.
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But then came the motor dealer's language.
He was talking about TNT and FSH and all the other abbreviations which seem to be part of the trade these day.
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I thought, speak English.
For those who don't know the motor trader's language is something like this.
ABS (anti-lock braking system), EM (electric mirrors), TNT (taxed and tested), CL (central locking), EBD (electronic brake distribution) and FSH (full service history).
They expect you to have a GCSE and PHD in car know-how.
They spout so much jargon, it would probably confuse even car crazy Jeremy Clarkson.
Then there's something called horse-power and brake horse-power.
Just tell me, I thought, where is the petrol cap.
I had only walked into the car showroom to enquire about a sports car. The intention was of buying a second-hand model in the future. Instead I walked out as the proud owner of a new model.
After taking if for a spin and having the salesman convince me it was a mean machine, there was no way I was going to walk away without one.
I was confronted with a list of abbreviations, but so long as it looked sleek and sporty, was road-worthy, had four wheels, an engine, brakes and an accelerator, I was happy. I wasn't interested in EBD, which could have stood for easily breaks down.
If this sounds like you, do not fret because a survey carried out by AA Personal Loans revealed that just 5 per cent of 4,000 people knew what TNT stood for and only half knew what FSH meant.
The Crow wants to know what you look for in a car?
The World Cup has come to end.
But before I can breathe a sigh of relief I find out the football season has started.
It would be all right if it didn't dominate terrestrial television or public houses, but it does.
It seems to go on for eternity and to make matters worse, I can't even escape it at work.
I get a headache listening to my colleagues' banter about who is at the top of the league and what the offside rule is.
I just don't care.
One of the most irritating things about footballers is the amount of money they get.
They don't deserve £50,000 a week for kicking a ball.
The only time a game has put a smile on my face is when a) I've caught a glimpse of David Beckham or Frank Lampard in their little shorts or b) the shops have been deserted.
It means men don't loiter around the aisles looking like lost sheep.