I used to run a small garage.....
Just a one-man band really. But I rented premises in a yard with other guys who did the same. We had a sort of "shittest pool car" competition going. There was a lot of car borrowing what with all the pidking up and dropping off of customers cars. We all had "Shitters" i.e. an unregistered, untaxed piece of crap you didn't mind leaving anywhere. We used to drive into each other, stand on them for a better view, paint them stupid colours etc. The undoubted winner was one guy's Datsun 100 circa 1973 vintage carad.ebayimg.com/i17/03/a/000/78/0f/c577_4.JPG
It was blue had crap flames sprayed on it and smelt of burnt plastic! Probably from where petrol was poured on the boot once and set fire to just before the owner drove off in it! Not a clever move when the premises were behind a petrol station but it was funny at the time!

Eventually the owner left it too long in the same place, and the customer who lived nearby phoned him up one evening as calmy told him that the fire brigade were in attendance, as his car was on it's roof in the middle of the road, with 20 foot flames coming out of it! Did he want a picture?
(verynaughtyboy, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 16:15, Reply)

An old mate of mine passed his test at 17 and bought a 0.9l Fiat cinquecento.
It looked like a black postman pat van and would rattle if you went over 60.

He put Viper strips up the bonnet, along the roof and down the back...
Using Duct tape.

He drove it like that for months.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 16:11, 2 replies)

I always find the term 'spoiler' somewhat ironic

(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 16:11, 3 replies)

I had
one of these: farm1.static.flickr.com/74/161099722_2e91a78e53.jpg?v=0 (but in black)
Bought it many years ago for £50 from a local poacher.. he'd even left some dead rabbits in the boot for me. Cosmetically she was a wreck, but structurally sound as a bell, the engine was sweet and I loved her, despite the fact that the ignition key had snapped in the ignition and I had to start her up with a screwdriver.

Spent shedloads of money and time on her, stripped her all back to bare metal, replaced all the rusty bits with new, resprayed, got all new chrome bits, and sorted everything out. When she was finished she looked beautiful, went like shit off a shiny shovel and gripped the road like spunk to a blanket. She was my baby and I adored her.

Until one fateful day while I was at work when my ex swapped her for one of these: i167.photobucket.com/albums/u140/Poo4Boy/My%20Bikes/honda_cg125_1976_1.jpg . Not only a nasty little bike (we already had a GSXR 1100, why did we need this piece of shite Honda), but also a very very tatty and knackered nasty little bike.

He became my ex shortly after.
(Freakmandu, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 16:11, 8 replies)

A pea-roast from Top Tips no less.
Boy racers et al:

Have you fitted extremely large sub-woofers in the front of your car? Don't turn them up to impress some girlies walking past whilst you're stopped at traffic lights behind me.

I had to pull over because I couldn't drive from laughing so much when I looked in the mirror just in time to see your airbag go off
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:59, 1 reply)

I once saw a Ferrari Enzo parked in Camden
Outside the Dublin Castle.

Not a bad spot considering there are only 400 in existence. It looked really nice.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:56, 3 replies)

A girl showed me her breasts in my car
i like breasts
( broadsword now that's fresh, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:55, 4 replies)

I had a great Mini....
Many years back when I was young and more stupid! It was only a Mini 1000 but it had a Bigger carburettor, a Cherry bomb exhaust, was red with a white roof, had little worlfrace alloys and a Walnut dashboard and a little steering wheel! In a slightly rusty round the edges way it was the Mutt's nuts!

However.... it had a problem! If I used the horn ever, it would short out the ignition and kill the engine momentarily, without any sound from the horn! I never bothered to fix this as it was electrickery and therefore a waste of my time!

However I used to forget this, and when I occasionally got cut-up, or slighted in some way(I probably always deserved it!) The red mist would descend and road-rage would get to me and I'd acellerate like a youthful loon and HIT THE HORN!....... and then decellerate in their wake like a deflating balloon!!!

Hundreds of 80's drivers must have looked in their mirrors thinking...."Yes son, you know your place.... increasingly further behind me!"
(verynaughtyboy, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:52, Reply)

Windshields
Why is it that people think they are invisible when inside their cars? Don't get me wrong I spend half my time driving looking like a gurning idiot. The rest of the time I just look like an idiot.

I was sitting at some traffic lights and I noticed that the car behind me belonged to a friend of mine. I notice him drumming out one hell of a rhythm on his steering wheel complete with fills and everything, it truly was a thing of beauty, Ginger Baker would have been proud. A few minutes later I get home and send him a text asking about his drumming and receive the response "People can see me doing that?". Of course they can you flamingo-ing idiot, you're sitting behind a big ass pane of glass!

Another spell of sitting at traffic lights resulted in one of the most endearing moments of parenting I'd ever seen. Waiting behind a Blue Vauxhall Astra containing a father and son. Father is clearly investigating the contents of his nose with an impressive level of vigour and after a few seconds strikes gold. I then see him inspecting it in some detail and is clearly impressed with his efforts, I could tell then and there he felt he'd earnt his pasty at lunchtime after that find. He then does something truly wonderous and reaches over and rubs it on the back of the head of his offspring who then feels the back of his head and... the lights went green, we part in different directions and I never got to see what happened :(
(Skawt, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:47, Reply)

Bike cops rule!
Driving my lovely old green mini (yes, I was a hippy) back from the centre of London, I had a problem. There was no clutch. Thankfully, my dad had taught me to double de-clutch, so changing gear wasn't a problem, either up or down the gears. The only issue was getting it going from a full stop. So every set of lights had me jumping out of the car, pushing it till it was up to speed, then jumping back in and getting it into first.
I made it as far as Putney in this manner, where I was watched, then tugged, by a bike cop. Ignoring the lack of tax disc, he asked me to pop the bonnet. After a minute of having his head under it, he said it was the clutch slave cylinder. He pointed me in the direction of a motor factors, just 30 yards away.
I got the part, while he waited next to my car to make sure it didn't get a ticket! Then he went and fitted it for me in the rain no less. I can only assume he was impressed at my clutchless skills, or just took pity on a barefooted hippy making his way back from Whirlygig (back in the good days).
I'd like to take this opportunity to thank this London bike cop again for his help. (Are bike cops really a different breed?)

Apologies for the saccharic thanks, Mr bike cop- YOU ROCK.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:41, 7 replies)

The driving lesson that never was.
750 words, so in the reply as per usual.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:30, 12 replies)

I've had sex in the back of my car
Twice. Both times around it was a different car and a different woman. That is all.
(RVD420 has his world coming down on, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:25, 10 replies)

I had almost finished restoring my MGB. It had been resprayed and looked a beaut.
After posing about on the south coast one fine summer's day, I waited til the roads had cleared and flew home with the rev counter just into the orange. 60 miles -roof down - collar up - fly squash on my forehead. Trouble is, I lived just a short way from the motorway junction. And one of the restoration jobs not yet done was to replace the heat insulation blanket under the bonnet.
So while I was climbing out on my drive I smelt something burning - and watched the paint blistering up on my just resprayed bonnet.
Should have gone for the bake-on paint job, I suppose.
( Larry Vest One day at a time, sweet Jesus, FFS., Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:18, 1 reply)

REAL LIFE HONDA ACCORD JUSTICE GOES WRONG
www.gazetteseries.co.uk/news/localnews/thornburynews/8094158.Police_appeal_for_witnesses_to_road_rage_incident/

I'm saving up for one. You can't deliver serious vengeance in a Ford Ka.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:15, 1 reply)

Another stolen one.
I'd spent the night at my friend's house, as a few of us were going climbing the next morning. After the usual type night, we were up early and plyed with tea ready for the off. Bags packed, ropes coiled we set outside- to find no car. Matey calls the police who stop him at "stolen" and ask "Is it a blue Ford Escort by any chance?"
"Why yes it is" he replies.
"Ah, yes *snigger* We have found it. We'll send someone round immediately."
The police duly turn up, barely able to suppress their grins. We put this down to the fact it was a rather scrappy job.
"Yes sir, we've found your car. Only problem is, it's kind of up a tree. *Giggle giggle* I think we'll need your help."
So off we trot, (with the police) to the local traveller park. As we approached, the field next to their camp has a lovely swirly pattern embedded in the crop. At the edge of the field were saplings gradually giving way to thicker forest.
Yes, you've probably guessed it, the car was driven at full pelt into the saplings, which bent, offering the car easier access to the higher branches of the larger trees. It was only 8-10 feet off the ground, but still a sight to behold. It took all of us bouncing it and pushing it to get it off the trees, but once it was the only damage was a cracked indicator lens. That and the lock of course. Climbing gear in and off we went!
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:09, Reply)

How many Jews can you fit in a Mini?
Four, maybe five at a push depending on the height and weight of the individuals in question. The religious beliefs of the passengers has no bearing.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:08, Reply)

Multi-story car parks
Now, in a built up city like Birmingham, there's hardly enough room to swing a cat at street level, let alone fit in a ground level car park for all those Chelsea tractors, the solution obviously being to build multi-story car parks. I, like most of my friends, utterly refuse to park in them unless totally necessary: They're tight, dangerous, ill looked after and generally a bitch to drive through.

Except for one. This one, it was determined, you needed to park right at the top, facing the exit ramp. Due to the drainage facilities being non existent, the roof was on a slight gradient, to stop huge lakes of rain water. This, combined with the tight concentric ramps to exit meant that, come leaving, if you just took the handbrake off, coasted in neutral down the first ramp them put full steering lock on, you could just roll all the way down this 5 story car park, with no need for brakes, gears, steering, anything; it was hilarious.

By the time you reached the main exit, it was easy enough to kick the car into third, and just pull straight out and continue on with your day, regardless of the 5mph speed limits. I think this went on sparsely for about 2 months, until, one fateful day, we came rolling out of the car park and *flash*. Some armor plated, stainless steel CCTV camera, so freshly installed the concrete has yet to dry, collars us. 2 days later, £60 speeding fine. Was the camera solely for our benefit? Who knows...
(Narcotic-Nightmares, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 15:02, Reply)

Oooh, about time
This is close enough for me to be able to tell a PROPER story. One I haven't fabricated in any way. One which goes on for fookin' ages. Wait! Come back! It might be fun anyway...

Last year Ms Foxtrot came up with the idea of hitchhiking to Morocco. Yes, Morocco. No, I don't live in Egypt, I live in Norwich, and she wants to HITCHHIKE from NORWICH to AFRICA. But it was OK, it was for charity, they sent us T-shirts to wear, we had to text them our whereabouts each evening - we would surely be protected from the slightest possibility of rape, death or both, not necessarily in that order!

Obviously we did both survive, there's not much dramatic tension to be milked from a tale when I'm narrating it a year after it began. Norwich to Marrakech took us 8 days including two ferry trips, an overnight train from Tangier, a coach for the final leg from Sevilla to Algericiras after having the shit scared out of us the previous day (details to follow) and 25 lifts from people of various nationalities. These are the highlights.

The morning we departed, I took it upon myself to text Radio 1 to tell them what we'd gotten ourselves into. Chappers and Dave translated my text, live on air, as "Good luck to Darth & Ms Foxtrot, hitchhiking to Morocco - they've made it as far as Norwich! Ha ha fucking ha" (not actually said). An hour later, during our first lift, I texted them again and they were good enough to read out my thank you to our driver, Anna. She looked fucking mortified. I assume her husband thought she was waiting for him in bed, rather than driving home from her toyboy's place.

One very nice French chap insisted on buying us a slice of pizza when he stopped for lunch. He was very enthusiastic about Ms Foxtrot eating faster, and I had to explain, in flawless (ha!) Gallic, that she was a slow eater, and her reluctance had nowt to do with having recently sunk her vegetarian teeth into a small piece of jambon.

After finding ourselves stranded along an autoroute as the night closed in, we pitched our tent in a truck stop near Tours in the hope of hitching as far south as Bordeaux, or maybe even Spain, the next morning. After a fruitless hour a lady approached us and said we could go to Bordeaux with her and her husband in their lorry. But, and this is a hell of a catch, there was no room in the cab so we'd have to ride in the back of the lorry. With their potatoes. Now I know what you're thinking, what kind of idiot would agree to such a proposal?

Well, I would. They offered us coffee and a sandwich and somehow, despite them being Portuguese and not speaking French or English, we managed to have a conversation. I only know the Portuguese for "Oily Cunt" (Cristiano Ronaldo) and thought it was best to steer clear of this, but the nice gentleman managed to infer that due to Ms Foxtrot's blonde hair, when we got to Morocco I'd be able to trade her for as many as four camels.

We passed the next three hours in the back of a locked lorry, swearing not to tell our parents, consoling ourselves with the knowledge that we wouldn't go hungry (honestly, you've never seen so many potatoes) and that as the sides of the lorry were tarpaulin we could always cut our way out. Then the engine stopped, we heard footsteps, the doors were unlocked, and they very pleasantly wished us the best of luck with the rest of our journey.

Spain passed mostly without incident until we got to Toledo. We went two hours with no luck getting a hitch, aiming for Cuidad Real, until Juan pulled over. Juan was going to Sevilla, which is about twice as far in the right direction. This was excellent news. I sat in the front with Juan, despite my complete lack of Spanish. He kept flicking his gaze in my direction. This made me nervous. He said he was travelling from Madrid, where he worked (although he was very vague about the nature of his job) to Sevilla, where he lived. This also made us nervous, it's a hell of a commute. He drove at approximately 3 million kph and treated the white lines in the road as decoration.

By the time we got to the outskirts (read: really rough part) of Sevilla, and he hopped out to "see a friend about something", we were bricking it.

Then he took us to the centre of Sevilla and wished us the best of luck. Turns out he'd been looking at the wing mirror next to me because he didn't have a rear view in his car. And this is the key lessons learned, really; people really can be incredibly kind to complete strangers. It's something we forget all too easily in the modern world, the human capacity for good. 25 different people stopped and picked up two randoms with rucksacks and linguistic difficulties. We saw the Pyrenees from the cab of a lorry, we got to take in Zaragoza, Sevilla and Toledo, all of which are stunningly beautiful, we got fed several times and we got to travel through three different countries for free on the kindness of strangers. Some people even picked us up just to take us a mile or two down the road because where we were waiting was a crap spot for hitching. So next time you think it's a harsh world full of bastards, try hitchhiking to Marrakech. It'll open your eyes, not your anus.

No apologies for length. I could talk about it for days.
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:58, 11 replies)

My sister's car got stolen...
... several times, actually, since it is a white Vauxhall Nova. Now, the first time, her boyfriend (now husband) woke up to hear someone revving a car engine, realised it was the Nova, and went to wake her. Too slow, she's already down the stairs and chasing them up the street with a trolley jack handle. The would-be car thieves had been thwarted by that fiendish mechanical device, the manual choke.

The second time, it was some junkie couple, who managed to drop their house keys in the driver's side footwell. With their address on the keyfob. "Ah", said the policeman who came round, "aha, him. Right, will you be staying up for a while? I'll be back in half an hour..."

The third time, though, someone actually broke into their flat and stole the car keys. They ignored the iPod and the digital camera, and took the keys. They must have then wandered around the carpark plipping the alarm until something woke up, and realised that out of everything in the car park (including a couple of MR2s, a Subaru Impreza, and a Honda NSX) they had stolen the keys for the J-reg Nova. Now, my sister is very fond of her wee Nova, and it would be quite an understatement to say she was very upset at this. We phoned the police (she was working near where I live, so she was staying at mine), various scrapyards (thieves often steal cars simply to weigh them in), and finally the local paper. Nothing. The police said that if they went into the town centre or put petrol in, the ANPR would catch them - but they didn't show up. The car only had a wee drop of petrol left after driving about 400 miles on a tank, so we figured they couldn't have gone far.

They hadn't.

A week later, my sister and her husband found the car parked up at some flats about half a mile away, undamaged but with the stereo and a couple of CDs missing. That was right about when the newspapers started phoning constantly, looking for their follow-up to the story.
www.thescottishsun.co.uk/scotsol/homepage/news/2259432/Im-Miss-CARPLE.html
www.thecourier.co.uk/output/2009/02/20/newsstory12667952t0.asp
(gordonjcp, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:51, 1 reply)

Insane Grandad Behind The Wheel
A few years back my friend Iain and I were flogging t-shirts up at the Skye music festival. Iain's grandad is a wealthy old bugger and has a couple of houses there so he invited us out for a few drinks one afternoon and then lunch at his abode.

After a few drinks at an outrageously posh manor/club/bar (complete with French barman) we stumbled out to the car suitably bleary. Iain had previously warned me about his grandad's driving, having totaled a car in the last year on Skye's snaking country roads.

Despite having daft money his grandad drove a tiny Japanese car, like a wee Hot Wheels thing for pensioners. It's worth pointing out at this stage as well that Iain's papa is profoundly deaf, in his early 80's and prone to falling asleep whenever he gets seated comfortably.

Anyway, we were bundled in the back of the silly mobile and off we went. It was a couple of minutes into the journey that I realised that Iain's auld paw was a speed demon, proper. As the speedo steadily escalated up to 80 and beyond Iain kept throwing me little glances as if to say, "What is he like, he's some turn!"

I remember he peaked at 115 mph, took his hands off the wheel and started raking about in the glove box for sunglasses. The car started drifting into the middle of the road and casual as you like the old bugger put his shades on and pulled back into the lane as if he was some Hollywood badass.

Needless to say that if Iain and I weren't half cut we would have easily filled that tiny motor up to the sunroof with shite.
(Pat Shatner ,in it for the buzz, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:50, Reply)

Don't drive dark cars while looking like a terrorist.
A guy I work with is one of these "Every day is a Goth day" and always pays me a visit to tell me his exploits. Most of them are boring as hell, but occasionally he'll come out with a cropper.

One day the Goth gets a phone call one afternoon asking him to drive around his friend's house, as his friend is in a spot of bother. He jumps in his black car with black tinted windows and drives with his long black coat on, while wearing black glasses (you get the fucking point). He turns up at his friend's house to discover his friend has just been to paintball and ended up being locked out of his house. The main problem he's got though is that he's locked outside with a replica AK47 in a black bag, so he asks if he can keep it in the Goth's car for the time being. Goth agrees, locks it in his boot and drives home.

He didn't make it; armed response had him within 5 minutes with 6 MP5's pointed at his skull. Apparently one of the neighbours of his friend saw him stuff this gun into the boot and thought he was going to kill someone.

His car now smells of wee.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:48, 1 reply)

My Brother
Used to have a Fiat Panda. It was a great car - lots went wrong with it mind, but were all very inexpensive to fix. i.e. gear stick broke, boot rusted shut etc...

My brother smoked a lot (and still does) and would often smoke in his car throwing the cigarette out of the window when he was finished.

One day My dad decided to see if he could open the boot. Upon finally opening the boot we discovered lots of old rubbish we had forgotten about. One item caught our eye - a set of Jump leads. - But these weren't any ordinary set of jump leads. These looked like Christmas tree lights. But instead of bulbs they were cigarette butts. The same Cigarette butts my brother had been throwing out of his window had been getting sucked back inside falling down the back of the parcel shelf, and fusing with the rubber coating on the jump leads.

Potential Train Planes and Automobiles incident ....

he made sure the cigarettes were thrown out in future.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:45, Reply)

Jealousy
My Mum used to get really jealous on long car journeys with her male cousins because if they needed a wee they'd be told to 'tie a knot in it', and so for years of childhood she thought that boys were able to tie up their willies to prevent themselves from needing a wee...
(babyaeroplanes, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:43, 3 replies)

Dave Vest and His Incredibly Small Bladder
Coming back from the British Grand Prix at Brands Hatch, 1986.
Road at a standstill coming up to the tunnel. Dave Vest needs a piss like Andrew Lloyd Webber needs a new face. He didn't like using the (too) public ones at the racetrack.

As we crawl past a service road, he yells "Stop" and jumps out. Even drops his wallet and doesn't turn back, as he runs up the small road as fast as his wobbly bladder will allow.

At the top there's a gap in a hedge, and he darts behind it.
Just seconds later we see him run past the gap, stuffing his todger back in, as a coach load of Japanese tourists drive past the road at the top, all faces pressed to the glass.

By the time he'd gotten back to the car, we'd moved all of 5 feet...
(Kliper Filllets Getting noticed by twats on the internet since, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:41, 1 reply)

Unfortunate
When I was around 18 my family this little run about car that we all used to use. The car was a Talbot Samba and it was probably the shittest car ever built. I always thought that it took special talent to design something that bad. That isn't my story though. One day when my Dad was driving it (probably pissed), he reversed it into a wall, giving it a nice big dent in one of the back wings. Cue a trip to the garage to get fixed up.

A week or so later, he went to pick it up (probably pissed again), and pranged it into a wall as he was actually driving it out of the garage. He promptly reversed it back in and asked them to fix the new dent.

I think that in his life he probably pranged or seriously crashed a about 10-15 cars. May have had something to do with his habit of drinking 5 cans of Ruddles for lunch each day.
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:40, Reply)

Baby you can drive my car
God I hate that advert...
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:36, 4 replies)

Riding in the boot,
Is not fun, especially at night.
It might sound cool to pretend to be one of the unluckier characters in Goodfellas, but it isn't.
It's dark, cramped, disorientating (that might be because I'd been drinking though) and there could well be an African face carving bouncing about and hitting you in the face whenever the car does anything.

Also, your friends might be think it's hilarious to do a speed tour of every roundabout in Swindon (Magic's included).
(Captain Fisticuffs A metal Bing Crosby can't do everything., Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:28, 3 replies)

Maybe this should be in Top Tips, but...
On occasions when you are required to hire a car always ask for a budget-priced automatic.

The nice people at Avis will then try and talk you into upgrading your car to a bigger, more flash one.

Repeat that you/your company will only run to a budget car and insist that is what you want to order.

They'll accept in the end.

Wait until your budget car is delivered and then smile in delight as you are given either a Merc C Class, a 3 or 5 series BMW or some other 'exec' car.

I've yet to find a car hire place that stocks budget automatics.
( JeffTheDogFucker Can you dig it?, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:25, 3 replies)

Has anyone else been in an Egyptian taxi?
8 lanes squeezed into a 3 lane road, rust holes in the floor so big you can see the road fly past, trying to feel you up at 100km/hr... I could go on!
(mellocakes has a special fondness for chickpeas, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:14, 3 replies)

Hired a nice Vauxhall Vectra estate to drive to Scotland once....
...halfway up we stopped at a service station to relieve our bladders. Once done, we hopped back in the car and hit the motorway again, driving through some rough weather on our way to Gretna (to my wedding of all things).

About an hour later me sister starts shouting about there being something else in the car. She makes me stop in a service station and lo and behold I'm forced to look under the driver seat from the backseat.

I glance under it and go "Uh?" just as a sparrow looks back at me and goes "Uh?".

Cue 4 grown adults standing in almost horizontal torrential rain in a carpark somewhere outside Birmingham trying to coax a fucking sparrow out of the car for 1/2 a fucking hour. No idea if the poor bugger found his way home afterwards though, most probs swam it.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 22 Apr 2010, 14:12, 1 reply)