From his last column in the Telegraph:
I only went in to buy a light bulb. . .
...and I walked out perilously close to buying a new car
On two occasions in my life, I have walked into a motorcycle dealership to buy a new pair of gloves and left with a whole new bike.
These people aren't stupid and they lay a fairly simple trap for the unwary rider - the gloves are at the back of the shop, so you have to walk past all the bikes before you get to them.
No one ever says: "Let's put the gloves by the front door so people who want only gloves won't have to pick their way through all the new bikes and those signs advertising easy finance."
It nearly happened again the other day when, right on cue at two years old and at the time when I might be thinking of replacing the bike, a small hole appeared in one of my biking gloves. So off I went to the nearby Triumph showroom and, half an hour later, was belting through the countryside on a new Speed Triple demonstrator.
Immediately after that, I went home and did some "man maths" - a type of creative accountancy designed to show that a new bike isn't really going to cost anything.
I'm sure we've all been here - motorcycle dealerships, boat yards, those shops that sell sit-on lawn-mowers - and I started wondering: did the desire for a new Speed Triple mug me unexpectedly as I entered the bike showroom, or was I subconsciously using the lightly damaged item of protective clothing to legitimise a test ride? Am I a victim of salesmanship, or my own worst enemy?
Now I know it's the former, because a few days ago I went into a car dealership in all innocence looking to buy a new light bulb and am now perilously close to buying a new car.
The only thing that has ever gone wrong with my old 911 is a blown indicator bulb. And when I went to my local Porsche dealer to buy a new one, the man behind the spares counter simply gave it to me rather than subject me to the convoluted stream of paperwork that, for some reason, always accompanies the sale of small car spares.
Thus he earned an immediate and shameless plug in this column for AFN Porsche of Chiswick, purveyor of free bulbs to the discerning Porsche enthusiast. Or at least anyone who goes in waving this newspaper and saying: "You didn't charge this bloke."
But the warm glow of "customer" satisfaction was simply a technique to blind me to the oldest trick in the book - namely, positioning the door to the spares department diagonally opposite the main entrance to the showroom. That meant I had to walk through conditioned air thick with the whiff of Porsche leather, past glittering brochures, a beaming lady attending the TCMF* and, of course, the serried ranks of new and nearly-new Porsches.
I have to say that my nearby Land Rover outlet gets this all wrong. Its spares department is reached through a small door on the side of the building, which explains why, despite having had to replace several bulbs and a few fuses on the old Range Rover over the past two years, I'm still not driving a new Defender.
Anyway. Among all the cars in the Porsche emporium was the new Boxster S. I really like the new Boxster. In fact, we'd been talking about it on the programme [Top Gear, BBC2, 8pm, Sundays] the day before, since Hammond and Clarkson have got it into their witless heads that the Mercedes SLK is somehow a better car.
I paused only for a second or two next to a blue one but in that time a bright chap with good teeth approached. He kept calling me "Mr May", which made me feel like a bank manager and the sort of bloke who could actually afford a Porsche Boxster. He even had a hand-held computer that did man maths and proved that, actually, I could. Then I took one for a test-drive and that, frankly, was a mistake.
Where does this end? Well, it hasn't yet. Every day I receive a polite text message with details of new payment plans and options prices. I thought I could fend them off by telling them I wanted green seats and a black dashboard with red dials. But a few hours later another message arrived to say that they'd spoken directly to the factory and, yes, they could do that. Bugger. It seems there is no escape.
Free bulb, my arse. If the indicator goes on your old 911, do yourself a favour and buy a replacement from Halfords. The worst that can happen is that you'll come away with a new socket set.
* Tea- and coffee-making facilities.
? Sponsored drive update: many thanks to everyone who has sponsored my drive from Land's End to John o'Groats in a nice car. Those who have already submitted a cheque will be sent a receipt and proof of payment to the RNLI when the trip is completed. Those who have sent pledges only will be sent a menacing demand for cash. That's assuming I make it.
What do you think?
I only went in to buy a light bulb. . .
...and I walked out perilously close to buying a new car
On two occasions in my life, I have walked into a motorcycle dealership to buy a new pair of gloves and left with a whole new bike.
These people aren't stupid and they lay a fairly simple trap for the unwary rider - the gloves are at the back of the shop, so you have to walk past all the bikes before you get to them.
No one ever says: "Let's put the gloves by the front door so people who want only gloves won't have to pick their way through all the new bikes and those signs advertising easy finance."
It nearly happened again the other day when, right on cue at two years old and at the time when I might be thinking of replacing the bike, a small hole appeared in one of my biking gloves. So off I went to the nearby Triumph showroom and, half an hour later, was belting through the countryside on a new Speed Triple demonstrator.
Immediately after that, I went home and did some "man maths" - a type of creative accountancy designed to show that a new bike isn't really going to cost anything.
I'm sure we've all been here - motorcycle dealerships, boat yards, those shops that sell sit-on lawn-mowers - and I started wondering: did the desire for a new Speed Triple mug me unexpectedly as I entered the bike showroom, or was I subconsciously using the lightly damaged item of protective clothing to legitimise a test ride? Am I a victim of salesmanship, or my own worst enemy?
Now I know it's the former, because a few days ago I went into a car dealership in all innocence looking to buy a new light bulb and am now perilously close to buying a new car.
The only thing that has ever gone wrong with my old 911 is a blown indicator bulb. And when I went to my local Porsche dealer to buy a new one, the man behind the spares counter simply gave it to me rather than subject me to the convoluted stream of paperwork that, for some reason, always accompanies the sale of small car spares.
Thus he earned an immediate and shameless plug in this column for AFN Porsche of Chiswick, purveyor of free bulbs to the discerning Porsche enthusiast. Or at least anyone who goes in waving this newspaper and saying: "You didn't charge this bloke."
But the warm glow of "customer" satisfaction was simply a technique to blind me to the oldest trick in the book - namely, positioning the door to the spares department diagonally opposite the main entrance to the showroom. That meant I had to walk through conditioned air thick with the whiff of Porsche leather, past glittering brochures, a beaming lady attending the TCMF* and, of course, the serried ranks of new and nearly-new Porsches.
I have to say that my nearby Land Rover outlet gets this all wrong. Its spares department is reached through a small door on the side of the building, which explains why, despite having had to replace several bulbs and a few fuses on the old Range Rover over the past two years, I'm still not driving a new Defender.
Anyway. Among all the cars in the Porsche emporium was the new Boxster S. I really like the new Boxster. In fact, we'd been talking about it on the programme [Top Gear, BBC2, 8pm, Sundays] the day before, since Hammond and Clarkson have got it into their witless heads that the Mercedes SLK is somehow a better car.
I paused only for a second or two next to a blue one but in that time a bright chap with good teeth approached. He kept calling me "Mr May", which made me feel like a bank manager and the sort of bloke who could actually afford a Porsche Boxster. He even had a hand-held computer that did man maths and proved that, actually, I could. Then I took one for a test-drive and that, frankly, was a mistake.
Where does this end? Well, it hasn't yet. Every day I receive a polite text message with details of new payment plans and options prices. I thought I could fend them off by telling them I wanted green seats and a black dashboard with red dials. But a few hours later another message arrived to say that they'd spoken directly to the factory and, yes, they could do that. Bugger. It seems there is no escape.
Free bulb, my arse. If the indicator goes on your old 911, do yourself a favour and buy a replacement from Halfords. The worst that can happen is that you'll come away with a new socket set.
* Tea- and coffee-making facilities.
? Sponsored drive update: many thanks to everyone who has sponsored my drive from Land's End to John o'Groats in a nice car. Those who have already submitted a cheque will be sent a receipt and proof of payment to the RNLI when the trip is completed. Those who have sent pledges only will be sent a menacing demand for cash. That's assuming I make it.
What do you think?
