We’re browsing around a used car garage in search of cheap wheels for our stay here in the UK. The owner comes over and says….”I’m not a salesman” then negates his statement with the word BUT. I know exactly what’s coming next, a diatribe of sales blather.
I’d glanced, hardly a glance, more a micro blink, at a Honda. “You can’t go wrong with a Honda. It’s bombproof. Only reason it’s for sale is the owner kept having those things that need to go in pushchairs”. He was a delightful example of a human being?! A depressingly stereotypical representation of a used car salesman. Harry Enfield or Paul Whitehouse need look no further than this man for their next character.
We called in at the aforementioned garage on our way back from Grimsby. The purpose of this journey was to look at another car which turned out to be a bag of spanners. I’d never been there before so in case you go, here what to look out for. The town welcomes visitors with its magistrates court and a large sign advertising a solicitors who can help in the police station. Sets the tone nicely for your visit.
It was lunchtime so Dave took me to the seaside for chips. It was FAB. The traditional british seaside at its best. Cleepthorpes delivers. We walked the prom then shared a box of fish and chips followed by an ice cream each. We’d only paid for an hour’s car parking so missed out on the crazy golf which was saddening. The sun shone, the donkeys plodded, children dug and the deck chair folk put the world to rights.
Our friend Linnit pointed out that someone had stolen the sea but that was irrelevant. It may not be the Pacific. It made me smile for the hour we were there.
Wheels update. We still have no car after further searching. I think our expectations are too high for the bargain basement section of the used car market. A reality check may be needed.
In the interests of impartiality, we only drove through Grimsby briefly and visited a trading estate. My previous comments should be taken merely as a tiny uneducated snapshot. Thank you.