We took the car in for an early service and possible warranty claim for a probable busted back suspension spring today.
While I was out at SW last night (I walked up, no sticks!), Hubby emptied the boot into a large holdall and collected me for 9pm. We took C home rather than her walk home on her own at night, and when we arrived back at the marina, Hubby got a trolley and loaded it up.
Our entire possessional wealth is now aboard, apart from the car itself which couldn’t fit on the boat anyway (no garage) even if we could drive it along the pontoon in the first place.
We arrived an hour before our 11 am appointment, having left at 9.30 to allow for traffic and road works (which weren’t, sigh).
We had already explained about the clunk every time we went over a bump in the road, and the pot holes here could easily take the silver medal to Lincolnshire’s gold. We’d forked out over three hundred pounds for such a repair to Hubby’s Partner some years ago, then found we could have claimed against our insurance (double sigh).
Anyway, not wanting to take any chances, I rang our insurers to check what my excess was (emphasising that we hadn’t hit anything at the time of ringing), and was told it was the compulsory £100 plus a voluntary excess of £300, so we’d have four hundred smackeroons to pay under a claim. Ouch.
So, off we went this morning and as we were early, a technician (no longer called grease monkeys or mechanics) was able to go for a test drive with Hubby and apply his hearing talents to our mysterious clunk.
Back at the garage, he was convinced it wasn’t a busted spring but didn’t know what it could be.
Our courtesy car was a rather nice I20 which is the next model up from ours. It had electric windows, auto locking, a fantastic radio (if you like heavy bass boom boxes), auto switch off and restart which made us think we’d stalled every time we stopped, and a beeping in reverse which turned out to be sensors to stop you hitting anything. There were so many buttons on the steering wheel, it seemed more like the controls of a plane!
We laid the promised protective blanket on the back seat for Maggie and drove into Worcester for four hours.
We found a convenient car park for the city centre and went in search of a branch of our bank, passing on the way our favoured bakers for a coffee and bacon roll. Maggie shared.
Bank business done, we ambled through the town, and actually ended up doing some clothes shopping! Hubby went in the shop first and was gone over half an hour. He came out with three tee shirts.
I then went in, and true to form there was nothing in the ladies section that appealed. Off I went to the mens, but the vest type tee shirts I wanted weren’t available, though I did pass a reduced rail and got a nice baggy top for three quid.
We got Maggie some bottled water and filled a poo bag so that she could have a drink.
The phone rang at 1.15 and we were told our car was ready with no major repair required.
In fact, it was all rather embarrassing.
New cars these days don’t have a spare wheel, and instead have an inflation kit should you get a flat. The bracket holding the kit had worked its way loose, and once they’d screwed it down again, no clunk.