Clifford the big red car!

Hi All, 

Leaving the office, the clouds were grey and certainly far from partying in the sky above Bedford this afternoon as I jumped out of a work colleagues new car as she dropped me to the car dealership. I thought about the first time I came here and how I missed my little orange Ford Fiesta, Vivienne. Alas that chapter had ended with the haulage truck turning up last week to take her away, sparing me the anguish of seeing her leave whilst I had gone off to get my hair done! 

As I skipped into the dealership I was excited to see my new arrival outside, glinting in the overcast silver sky. The cute little Fiat 500L in red was to be christened "Clifford". He is big. He is red. He is mine. The 1.3 liter, 5-door multijet needed to be moved closer for me to have a proper look around the car and following a visit to meet him on Wednesday of last week I finally got a chance to have a whizz around town. A full panoramic glass roof, touch screen on board computer system, cruise control and even a trusty CD player I was certainly glad of some of the mod-cons. With just over thirty-thousand miles on his 2013 plate clock, it was certainly a steal at £140 per month on a Hire Purchase finance deal. 


But I know what your thinking. With several grand sat in the bank, would it not have been better and more cost effective to put that money towards my new car, whatever it may be? However whilst I have essentially walked away not only unscathed but very-much essentially up on my investment, the money would be of much more use to me not tied up and with easy access should I need it in the future, that and the wedding would be nicely taken care of. Why didn't I consider a brand spanking new motor? The fact is that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt which is always a huge factor in why I have chosen and will probably continue to choose to buy second-hand over new. 

That being said, my settlement doesn't make me stupid with money as the dealership found out in more ways that one. Following the visit to meet Clifford on Wednesday and our test drive, I was informed that there had been some minor damages on the vehicle and that they would be fixed before collection in a couple of days time, one being the rear brake light was cracked and the other being the front passenger seat belt casing was missing. Assured that the car would be fully checked and valeted as well before Clifford was ready to come home I was taken into the offices of Evans Halshaw Vauxhall in Bedford, offered a hot chocolate and the paperwork to sign and read through. 

However, reading down the page I could see that there was something blatantly obvious that had not been picked up and was potentially a huge issue. The Interest rate. Now cast your mind back to when I initially bought 
Vivienne I did not necessarily know about the best way to get finance on a car. I assumed, and rightly so I would be charged a slight premium for opting to go through the salesman who puts on their percentage, and then through the dealership who puts on their percentage to go to the finance company who, you guessed it, put on their percentage. But I never knew of the horrendous rate I was on until the accident. Nearly. Twenty. Percent. 

I was shocked, to say the least, and when I discovered what I had been paying for the two and a half years nearly I felt stupid. Normally I am so money conscience and always wanting to know if there is a way I can get it or a similar product cheaper or getting the best deal on something, only to be faced with an extortionate interest rate. Now I know that things were different back then and interest rates were higher, however when reading through the paperwork this time I was certain to make sure that the interest rate was no more than the ten-percent advertised by the saleswomen. But now, as I read through the pages and pages it stared be dead in the face. There it was in black and white. 12.9% APR interest rate. I asked why this was different to a few days ago when I initially enquired about the car and was met with a rude response. 

The rotund, grey-haired gentleman told me that it was what it was and it had always been that rate whether I was to borrow five pound or five thousand pounds. 
"Well it is only a three-percent difference, I can't see what the issue is?" He scoffed as I continued reading through, trying to work out my next move while deciphering the technical language and car jargon. 
"This is not was agreed or explained to me," I said boldly as I pushed the paperwork back across the desk. I stood up and thanked the sales lady for showing me the car and stated I would be in touch as the car was not the issue, the interest rate (and the old farts attitude) was. Spinning on my heels I turned and left, hoping they would call me back and offer a more reasonable rate. 

They did not, however arriving back home I had no sooner sunk into the black couch then I had a phone call. It was the finance manager. 
"I am sorry you have had this experience," he explained "I do hope that you will let me rectify this. You see I could essentially give you the car for 0% APR but that would mean I would be in negative commission and wouldn't make any money from the sale, so I am happy to beat the initial offer and settle at 9.9% if you are happy with this?" He continued. I thought long and hard about what he had to say. Time was running out on the hire car and I needed to make some decisions and fast. On agreeing that I was happy to settle at the now reduced rate (not that 0.01% is hardly a huge discount) I explained that considering I could go to a bank or online and get a loan for less than a third of what I was expected to pay, and I was already sensitive about the interest rate since last time I bought a car I was taken for a ride (I would excuse the pun but I love it too much)!

Happy I went along my merry way and was excited to pick up my car in a few days time once the work had been completed on the rear brake light and the front passenger seat belt casing. Although less than twenty-four hours after the APR debacle I had another phone call from the dealership. 
"So the front passenger seat belt casing will not be replaced due to the age of the car (its a 2013 plate car - less than six years old) but also because the part is a couple of hundred quid as the part comes only as a set and goes right the way under the seat." The sales lady explained. Fuming I ended the phone call and wondered what to do next. I had even less time now until my hire car went back and needed something soon. 

After getting some advice from work colleagues who knew the car industry well, I called the general manager of the dealership and asked why this could not be fixed as part and parcel of the works, considering all the issues I have had, and with special thought to the fact that whilst I am buying a used car, this was now a broken car with an issue that was not detailed on the pictures, nor on the information held on the website. Going off to investigate I was prepared to ask for something cheekily to be thrown in if they could not fix it free of charge, however I needn't have put on my boxing gloves, for when the manager called back moments later I was told that this would be done as soon as the part was in and without any cost to myself. 

With no noticeable damage or scratches to the paintwork and after being shown around and how to use him, I bid farewell to the sale lady (although I am certain she was more pleased to see me go) and with that, Clifford's almighty diesel engine steered me homeward bound. I am certainly looking forward to more adventures together, and hopefully even sharing it as Mr Warehouse and I expand our family in the future. Road trips, holidays and sneaky trips to the shops, I will be sure that Clifford and I will be riding high!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

X-cellent Christmas

Ho Ho Ho - Merry Christmas, 

Waking on Christmas morning as I normally do in my old room at my Dad's Girlfriend's House. Cold winter sun peeking through the window I awoke with the sound of Mr. Warehouse's pooch running up the stairs and wagging her tail furiously against the door. Letting her in we had a cuddle before I realised just what day it was ... IIITS CHRIIIISTMAAAS!!!

Heading down stairs I was greeted, not by the Santa ambush I had always anticipated as a child, but by the mountain of presents sat in a pile all for me. Sitting on the floor yet more doggy cuddles ensued and Mr. Warehouse and I took some time before my Dad and his Girlfriend came down to join us. I soon realised that our Kanine's stocking had more presents in it that some of the gift bags for close, human family members. Nevertheless our Pup seemed to enjoy her biscuits, treats, dog chocolate, toys, squeaky things and tit-bit's. Even the Christmas jumper was a hit and she stayed in it all day comfortably. 

Seeing the gifts my Dad, his partner and Mr. Warehouse had bought me I was more than happy to get started. After settling down with the "adults" and a cup of coffee, I started to unwrap the beautifully glittered and shiny paper. Hair accessories, beauty gifts, make-up, nail varnish and pamper treats I was certainly in no way going to run out of things and ways to pretty myself. Mr. Warehouse's car smellies (AKA air fresheners), sewing kit, clothes and my main pressie was a beautiful, new Lenovo Tablet/Laptop. I can hardly believe how spoilt I was by everyone as well as my Dad and other family members. More gifts included gift vouchers for different restaurants so Mr. Warehouse and I can have dinner somewhere nice, Candles ... Yankee of course, copious amounts of chocolate and biscuits. 

Now was the big time though, for it was Mr. Warehouse's time to unwrap his final few gifts. He started with some flat box shaped presents. Unwrapping them I apologised for the format, knowing full well what was to come. 
"I thought it was for Xbox 360 love, sorry. I will have to take them back to the store next week and get the right ones. So sorry Hunny." I said sympathetically. Looking at Mr. Warehouse's little face though I was just buzzing for the next few minutes to pass by. This had been over a year in the making. I had wanted to buy Mr. Warehouse an Xbox One (The new Microsoft game console) last Christmas in 2015, although by the time it came out I had already purchased the flight tickets to Dublin, and although I had really given it some serious thought into selling them and buying the console I decided against it. We obviously had a fantastic time, and I pondered that it would probably be cheaper come his birthday in August. The difference being is that in April, Mr. Warehouse left his job and had a few of his fingers in different pies for a while, some of which never worked out and as a result finances were very, very tight as I kept our little family afloat throughout the summer. As Autumn came and the leaves began to fall I started to pay more attention to the prices of the consoles and games, even more-so than I had before. But passing my driving test, buying a car and a career move I thought would have taken a toll on my bank balance but in fact has had the slight opposite effect. In spite of this, come Black Friday I awoke earlier than Christmas morning and logged online to see the deals that were about. Finding a corker I nailed it down, purchasing a Xbox One S with Fifa 17. In the following weeks I bought some bits here and bobs there as well as two further games. 

But now came the moment that my loving boyfriend was sat in PJ's with a furrowed brow wondering if I am just that stupid to buy the wrong formatted games or if I have been playing him for months. Opening the large box found down the side of the arm chair he was sat in, his face sunk. 
"This is a cruel joke. This is horrible. You haven't?! You couldn't have!?" Mr. Warehouse exclaimed, excited yet dubious. Opening the box, still not sure if it was just something heavy weighing it down rather than the actual real-deal. However after disguarding the remaining packaging there was nothing left but a white Xbox One S and Fifa 17. There was no hiding now. It was true and the dream had come true. 

Still in shock throughout the rest of the day we muddled through Christmas Dinner, more presents, visits to friends and family, wine, arguments and unimaginable amounts of food. Even now as we sit in Momma Warehouse's Boyfriends house in the Cambridgeshire countryside I don't think he really believes it, that is until we get home tomorrow and have a good play on all our toys. Jokingly I said I wouldn't see him until June 2017, but now I am not so sure that it is wrong. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Taking The Piss ...

Hi There, 

So after last weeks escapades in Ireland, and after spending a fair amount on PANDORA in Ireland's sale season (although I must admit I did grab some great bargains) both me and my bank manager were more than happy I was finally on a flight back to Blighty. Now I am back home, sat on my sofa as Mr. Warehouse plays GTA and the dog plays ball with her imaginary friend (or the resident ghostie - I don't know), but with coming back home comes also the unrelenting stress of my situation with Mr. Warehouse and how financially we will be able to afford the next few weeks. 

I am concerned about money and the lack of it, especially what with the upcoming events such as the wedding of Mr. Warehouse's cousin in Newquay, mounting birthday's and my upcoming (and much needed) summer break away with the Tweedles. I would like to go back to a day whereby neither of us thought twice about heading out for dinner on a Friday night coming home from work or going to the cinema for a mid-week flick. But I suppose that in the long run we will be able to do that, just for now we will have to give it up for a short time before Mr. Warehouse is back on his feet and financially we are more stable. The fact that I am working two jobs and still struggling with finances I think speaks volumes, but as the British always say, it doesn't rain but always pours and this was certainly true for me this past week. 

Getting in from my driving lesson I helped Mr. Warehouse in preparing dinner and feeding the dog. It was just gone seven in the evening. Settling down I had said to the boyfriend that something didn't feel right and I could sense another bout of Cystitis coming on. Now for those that don't know, Cystitis is a bacterial infection that mainly affects women and causes issues such as retention of urine, burning when urinating or indeed more serious issues to do with your bladder, kidneys and sexual organs. The condition doesn't just make life with the infection annoying and uncomfortable, but for me can go from normal to crippling pain within an hour and this, coupled with the urgent need to pee and the frustration of nothing coming out but still feeling a full bladder, is some of the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life. This is exactly what happened on Thursday night. 

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since I had arrived back home from my trip to Southern Ireland when I started to feel the onset of yet another infection and given the fact that I had been suffering from recurrent Cystitis and Thrush Combo's since March I was pretty fed up when I could feel another one coming along. Knowing that if I didn't act soon I would be wanting to claw my insides out with a fork by the time I went to bed, I took some paracetamol and a salt sachet you can buy over the counter and hoped it would clear up in a few days. I didn't even get into a few hours for as the moments were passing sat watching telly with my boyfriend the agony started. Constantly up and down going to the toilet I couldn't bear this much longer and decided to call the doctors whom passed my call through to the local hospital. It was serious now and by the time they told me that a prescription would be waiting for me to collect it at the local Accident and Emergency department I was crying, bent over doubled in pain on my bathroom floor. 

Being in the situation I am, what with no car and a limited income, I asked the doctor who I spoke to about getting the prescription written out so I could collect the tablets at the hospital and he explained that since the Pharmacy shut an hour earlier that I would have to go to an all night stockist. There would be no other option than to get a cab across town to collect the written prescription, then get the cabbie to drive to an all night Pharmacy to collect it and then back home so I could take it. Stressed and unable to deal with the situation and with nowhere else to turn I called my Dad. Reaching out for him to help was something I rarely did, only because I knew he doesn't have a great past record in helping me out when I'm in a pickle. Dialling his number I was sure he could help and as he answered and heard me in floods of tears he asked me to calm down and explain everything. 

After going through all of what I had already tried and expanding on the situation that was in hand I asked for his help. 
"Can you come and collect me and take me to where I need to go, Please Dad?" I said through broken croaks and tears. I was not expecting the response being that he was ready for bed and couldn't help because in his own words 'by the time I come and collect you, the trips could already be made and you would be back home'. He lives under a half-hour from his door to mine, a town down on the train line in Flitwick - Not the next county he would have you believing. I just didn't understand. He was my Dad. He knew the stress I was under with money. He knew the financial situation I was in with Mr. Warehouse and the likes. And yet still he did not help. Nothing. Scared and worried about what was going to happen, Mr. Warehouse had enough of the seeing me in pain and had called a cab already, ushering me into the back of it as I clutched at my abdomen and attempting small talk with my father. 

Sure enough I was up to A&E in no time, over to the Pharmacy and back home within the space of forty-minutes, no thanks to my father of course. A patronising phone call from his girlfriend and a follow-up call in the morning tried to justify his actions but nothing made a difference; I was still out of pocket nearly thirty-quid in taxi fares not to mention the twenty-pound prescription costs! Got to love the NHS and all their charges for working people haven't you. The last conversation ended with my father saying that if I needed any financial help or anything else then just to call him. But correct me if I am wrong, but that is what I had already done, wasn't it? Reached out for help when I needed it the absolute most? And he couldn't be bothered? Why the hell would I ask for anymore help when my Dad has been unable to help in several situations before? 

I have spoken to Miss Tweedle-Dumb and other friends back home and further afield than Flitwick and all of them had scolded me for not coming to them next and asking for their help. I suppose naively I thought my Father would help me. Obviously not. If it was one of his girlfriends niece's, nephews or other family members it would have been a very different scenario. Everything would have been dropped and they would be straight round, helping and rallying around to try and do whats best, but for his own daughter it was lost. Since then I haven't spoken to him and at the movement I just dont want to. He hasn't even apologised or tried to offer a constellation prize for not being there as a Father, nothing! Its too raw for me to speak with him at the moment and need some time to cool off before I speak to him or his girlfriend again. I knew my mother was a piece of work but two crappy parents? Come on!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx