It was written in the stars. Fate. Like natural selection, the Gods dictated that certain people don’t deserve to drive new cars and (with some pride), I guess that I am one of them. Sadly it was stupidity that brought me to this conclusion.
With the Scimitar sat in the C&SC workshop undergoing an axle swap, I was fortunate to be entrusted with the keys to a new Volkswagen Scirocco, courtesy of the kind people in the VW press office.
The swanky new leather-trimmed version of the ‘80s angular classic doesn’t really bear a great resemblance to the original Scirocco – in fact, the rear side window looks more like that on the Scimitar, and being a two-door, four-seater, I guess it’s remotely possible that Tom Karen’s original GTE was glanced at during the modern design process (really Martin? Ed).
Anyhow, the loan car would provide me with replacement transport while my classic was in dry dock, and for two days it did just that: got me to work and back with some style and not-to-be-sniffed-at performance, too. Then came the ‘phone call: “Hello, Volkswagen? I have one of your cars here… and it won’t do anything”.
My fatalistic diagnosis was, I thought, justified: I had driven it the 50-odd miles to work and when I got back in it to go home nine hours later, the key wouldn’t turn fully and the front windows just blipped up and down by a fraction. No other signs of life were visible anywhere.
