This is a story of woe, that although unfortunate to the hapless owner, does prove a cautionary tale for you car buying mugs out here. Don't get too excited about buying an ubersportscar or you'll let common sense and sound judgement go the same way as your readies. Don't trust the bloke you're buying from unless he's a fellow Freemason, and even then make sure you've slept with his missus first.
Always check the service history and have an HPI check done. Check that the chassis number matches that on the V5 or you'll be made to look like a bigger clown than Ronald McDonald. Funnier mind you, but that's not the point. Also, in the words of that film, there are three rules:
1 - Get an independent inspection by a respected specialist or dealer
2 - Get an independent inspection by a respected specialist or dealer
3 - Get an independent inspection by a respected specialist or dealer
You listening? You'd be surprised how many punters think they could recognise a bent motor, but I've had cars in that Uri Geller would have been proud of and it wasn't obvious without a bit of a rummage, oo-er.
So this story was recounted to me the other day. Blokey ignored my sound advice and now regrets it so much it hurts.
Bent
Mr X invested an not insubstantial amount of his humble savings into a relatively modern sub supercar of the pork variety from a private seller. The car comes with a full history and enough stamps in the service book to get a holiday courtesy of Green Shield.
The next day it turns over on the starter, but won't start and he trundles off to my mate who knows every German motor from an Audi to a Panzer. Snapped cambelt is the culprit despite the ink still being fresh on the service book. The estimated bill is three very large and excrutiatingly painful ones.
Anyway, things get a tad worse as when checking out the engine bay matey notices that there are several things amiss with the bulkhead. After investigation it is revealed to the porker-punter that he is the proud owner of a very badly botched LHD to RHD conversion. So badly done infact that the technicians consider it un-roadworthy and won't even road test the car when the engine work is complete.
As the saga developed they discover the parts used for the conversion are from a car built early in the 19th century and that the mileage cannot be genuine as exhibited by wear and tear other components more in line with a trip to the moon. Also the car has recently been resprayed thus explaining the 'lovely condition bodywork' that attracted the buyer. By now it is obvious that the full history is a sham, and the service stamps would find a better home in the script of Jackanory.
In the worst case it is a stolen European car sold here to get more cash and could actually belong legally to an insurance company in Europe. While the best scenario he can hope for is that it is not stolen, but he now owns an un-roadworthy car with no history and a high mileage that has been clocked, he's the laughing stock of his drinking pals and his wife now thinks he's got a small todger.
Punter boy is now looking at a potential resale value of zilcho and can say goodbye to his hard earned.
He may possibly have some form of legal redress, however against a private seller who claims to know nothing of its history it may be a fruitless task. The saddest thing is Mr X could have saved himself all of this grief for a very small amount of money. Yet he went into this deal wearing sunglasses with his blinkers and his earplugs were far too snug to boot.
So don't be fooled - whip off your fantasy to a specialist before you blow the farm on a bent porker.