So we went car shopping last night… there was this nice little Volkswagen Polo, small, blue, cute, advertised through a private sale. Looked practically unused (on the web), or a rather well maintained seldom driven car. We had our eyes on it… and we were going to go give it a whirl. Booked. Appointment made.

We arrived at the said place by the beautiful harbour… alright I give in, it was Rose Bay…a lovely little lane-way where the polo was parked. This was a private sale without having to go through a car dealer, so we weren’t really expecting one. We had made an appointment ahead of time. We called on arrival and he said he’d be there in a moment… it took him about 15 probably 20 minutes to arrive… hmmmm…. not a big deal but mmmm just odd really…

Next up my eyes fell on the number plate… I was wearing my ‘super virgo’ hat! I saw a fine line crack on the number plate…

The man drove in, introduced himself. We exchanged greetings and then:

He: “Well I’m actually a Car Broker, its not my car, this is what I do”.

We: looked at each other… *pause* “Right!”

Mind you the car was listed under private sale! We had a bit of a chat before we took the car out for a drive. Nice car but… the brakes made awful noise, the doors didn’t always shut smoothly, the boot didnt seem to open and shut properly… and when we returned and parked the car as I tried the test the lock mechanism from inside…I got locked in! Luckily we had the key. Oh this is all so stressful…

Better judgement prevailed, we returned the key, exchanged pleasantries and headed to Watsons bay for a nice gourmet dinner by the water. Everything felt better after that. You’d expect people to be a bit more honest than this… but sometimes its a whole lot to ask!