Insurance whinge.
Well here I am, back in Harden. I haven't been doing very much. Mostly just making use of a garden, which is still an enviable luxury for now. Then again, I'm already a bit bored. I didn't even bring my laptop so I'm using my old one, and I've forgotten just how slowwww it is. Which isn't helping my patience.
I came back up north on Thursday evening. You may have thought, being an organised sort of chap, that I would have booked the ticket leaving plenty of time to get home from work, get changed and leave in a leisurely manner in time to get a Starbucks at the station.
No.
I nearly tripped headfirst over Cocoa as I ran like a sweating oaf out of the office to my flat, packet some completely inadequate clothing and rushed to the station with 30 seconds to spare for the train to Grantham. And oh, what a train. It was like a sauna powered by diesel fumes, crammed with a family of enormously fat cockneys, with no air conditioning on the hottest day of the year so far. And those cockneys didn't stop eating all the way. Not just nibbling - full on face-stuffing. I wanted to take their KFC off them and say "I'm sorry, but I think you've had quite enough".
Thankfully, Grantham brought with it the first class train all the way to Shipley, of all places. Coming from the Sweat Express, this was like walking from a gypsy village into Knightsbridge. I decided, as the much more well-spoken staff filled my up with free drinks and snacks, that I won't be bothering with standard class anymore, wherever it is financially viable to do so. Not a chav with phone music in sight. Bliss.
With that said, I'm hoping I won't have to bother with trains in a few months. The plan is to buy a car as soon as I have somewhere to put one. Or, more likely, buy one just before and keep it here ready for when I actually need it. I've spent most of this afternoon going through AutoTrader and marvelling at insurance quotes. I mean, I know I don't have any no-claims bonus, but I've had a licence for four years and I thought it would have gone down a bit in that time. Turns out I was being a bit optimistic.
For example, the usual small cars - Fiestas, Corsas and Polos - are still around £1,000 a year. At least. So basically, I'm certain to write it off completely. Without fail. On the other hand, I've been eyeing up Volkswagen Golfs. High-mileage ones, with a 1.9-litre diesel engine and about ten years old, seem cheaper than the smaller cars. Plus they're cheaper tax, much more economical and bigger - so why doesn't everyone get those? There must be a catch somewhere, but I might just get one of those. Although none of it is much good at the moment, since I'd have to rent a parking space in the multi-storey, at around £80 a month. It's so unfair. I WANT A CAR! Uhh!
I came back up north on Thursday evening. You may have thought, being an organised sort of chap, that I would have booked the ticket leaving plenty of time to get home from work, get changed and leave in a leisurely manner in time to get a Starbucks at the station.
No.
I nearly tripped headfirst over Cocoa as I ran like a sweating oaf out of the office to my flat, packet some completely inadequate clothing and rushed to the station with 30 seconds to spare for the train to Grantham. And oh, what a train. It was like a sauna powered by diesel fumes, crammed with a family of enormously fat cockneys, with no air conditioning on the hottest day of the year so far. And those cockneys didn't stop eating all the way. Not just nibbling - full on face-stuffing. I wanted to take their KFC off them and say "I'm sorry, but I think you've had quite enough".
Thankfully, Grantham brought with it the first class train all the way to Shipley, of all places. Coming from the Sweat Express, this was like walking from a gypsy village into Knightsbridge. I decided, as the much more well-spoken staff filled my up with free drinks and snacks, that I won't be bothering with standard class anymore, wherever it is financially viable to do so. Not a chav with phone music in sight. Bliss.
With that said, I'm hoping I won't have to bother with trains in a few months. The plan is to buy a car as soon as I have somewhere to put one. Or, more likely, buy one just before and keep it here ready for when I actually need it. I've spent most of this afternoon going through AutoTrader and marvelling at insurance quotes. I mean, I know I don't have any no-claims bonus, but I've had a licence for four years and I thought it would have gone down a bit in that time. Turns out I was being a bit optimistic.
For example, the usual small cars - Fiestas, Corsas and Polos - are still around £1,000 a year. At least. So basically, I'm certain to write it off completely. Without fail. On the other hand, I've been eyeing up Volkswagen Golfs. High-mileage ones, with a 1.9-litre diesel engine and about ten years old, seem cheaper than the smaller cars. Plus they're cheaper tax, much more economical and bigger - so why doesn't everyone get those? There must be a catch somewhere, but I might just get one of those. Although none of it is much good at the moment, since I'd have to rent a parking space in the multi-storey, at around £80 a month. It's so unfair. I WANT A CAR! Uhh!