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Shitting in the shallow end.


Jim Bell

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Or :Tales from the Sub £400 Bracket - My Life And Poor Life Choices.

 

 

I remember being driven as a child. Driven everywhere.

Usually in a two-bob heap that took two days labour to get going, and cost three days a week to keep going. It was the nineteen seventies. Kojack was the main man (him and Magnum P.I.) and most weeks only had three days in them anyway due to a shortage of brown-outs.

The music was funky, the food was brown and so was my god damned track suit. I used to look up from my He-Mans, out of the window at my auld man setting timing in the rain and think "What a prick."

 

"I'll never be like him Skeletor. Never." - Skeletor agreed with stoic ambivilence.

 

 

Wind forward sixty seven years and its the new Millennium.

I find I have £400 from selling old Star Wars figures (had a few good Ewoks) and I'm not sure what to do with it.

 

Ive heard good things about drugs, such as E tablets and smoking heroin, but I'd also like to be able to get around, as well as be poor and unatractive to women.

 

I know. I'll buy a Volvo.

 

And I did.

 

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A stunning 340 GL B14, resplendent in flat Irish racing Green.

I bought it from Pete, who is very probably on here. I bought it blind and shipped it on a wagon up north for a closer look. It was a good one. It offered sumptuous tweed-like upholstery which supported me fully in me every endevour, and never failed in any way. It was so good in fact, that I bought it twice.

The first purchase was around £300, the second time round was probably a bit nearer £400 as the Rear Wheel Drive Volvo tax had been introduced by scenesters by that time.

 

Astounded at the value and absolute amazeballsness to be found for such a meagre amount, I pledged to USUALLY ONLY SPEND ABOUT £400 ALWAYS AGAIN.

 

Some drunk woman sideswiped the 340. It survived but suffered moreso following. With added short springs, smoked lights, stickers, a failed 4age swap and eventual breaking (I think) but it opened my eyes wide to what could be achieved with just a medium sized trouser pocket bulge.

And £400.

 

 

more shite to follow

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Lol, Chalfont \/

 

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360GLT for more power.

 

OH MY GOD THOSE WHEELS.

 

Yeah, skip past this one.

£350. Bought blind from Reading. Train down, drove back lovely, replaced all suspension, Jikovron welded it up a treat, then I sold it for £400.

Ended up with a failed 2.3 turbo conversion down south somewhere.

I hope its still alive. Was a great car.

 

Not the wheels obviously.

But the rest was good.

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The record of life seemed to be scratched. The needle bounce and it hopped, but it was firmly stuck on Track Number 3: Volvo.

Every time I sold a car, up popped another cheap Volvo (arnt they all?). this time around I was desperate. Filthyjohn of this parish offered me this round the back of some bins:

 

Volvo 740 2.0 n/a Saloon.

 

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Did NOT come with free ice cream van. Sadface.

It did come with handy steering wheel, spazatron box and the most comfortable armchairs in the history.

 

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I cant remember what I paid John for it, but if it was a penny over £400, I will literally eat human shit.

 

 

The 740 behaved flawlessly. Averaging 11mpg everywhere, no matter how you drove it. And mostly you drove it with the kick-down stuck on, as a sticking-on kickdown/1st gear hold was one of its features. Oh how the motorway miles screamed by at 99,0000 revs, doing 46mph.

 

It was also knocking.

 

I think I sold it back to John.

 

I'm sure he doesnt hold a grudge.

 

 

More to follow.

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Dear Sir Barry of Shitpeas, do you want to buy another £400 Volvo? As mine will be for sale next month and you haven't shown us any V40 love yet.

 

 

Thanks for the offer fella, but I've already had an S40 T4.

It cost £600 though, so shouldnt really be allowed in the £400 ish thread.

 

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I was sitting on the Metro, approaching Percy Main, when I noticed  the tramp sitting in the opposite seat had started to piss himself. He looked me right in the eye and pissed down his own leg.

The Metro pulled away from the station and the yellow puddle put up a brief protest, succumbed to the laws of acceleration, gravity and depravity, and ran straight at me.

 

I've never been to Hartlepool, I thought. And I've never had a LPG car. I added, as an aside.

 

Later that week, I counted up ALL of my spare change, sold a nice set of Weller Wheels, strapped a 9mm Beretta to the small of my back, and got on a train to Seaton Carew.

 

 

What does £395 get you in Seaton Carew?

 

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Well, you could probably buy most of the town, but it got me an 850 2.0 manyvalve with tinted gangster window panels and a boot full of gas yo.

 

All was well and I whiled away the weekends selling drugs and orchestrating dramatic drive-by shootings on rival tinted window Volvo saloon owners. 8Fiddy (as he became known) behaved very well for a while. They really are lovely cars.

As with a lot of low end motors, things became interesting about 3000 miles into ownership. It cut out on full power when running on gas. It restarted but would cut out when full power was applied.

 

I scratched my beard thoughtfully and changed the coil.

 

This made absolutely no difference.

 

So I sold it to John.

 

"Now it cuts out on full power, dont gun it."

 

Were my parting words.

 

He gunned it in the Tyne Tunnel, died a heroic death and had to be pushed out at moderate expense.

 

It was eventually broken.

 

 

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RIP 8Fiddy.

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