Discussion
It's my day off and I want to put my personalised plates on my recently-acquired Cerb. The two I've had made up have turned up in the post, so I get the train to my nearest DVLA office, with every form and document you can imagine (just in case), in a bid to sort things out.
I get there - and it turns out the form I've been sent by DVLA (belatedly, because the first one got lost in the post) is not the right one. The guy who's seeing me can't do anything without this form, so I'm given me a phone number to ring. As I get up to go I can hear the guy at the next counter isn't getting anywhere either, while people coming in are crowded round the machine that issues the 'next number' tickets as I leave. A nice old boy tells me that what he's here for isn't one of the options to press. Some are in a mild state of confusion, others look like extras from a nuclear war information film, staggering around desperately seeking help.
After several unsuccessful attempts at speaking to someone on the phone number given, I'm introduced to the novelty of giving my postcode to an automated machine just as I board my train home. Predictably the machine fails to understand me despite me giving it at various decibels, in various accents (for a second I thought it was going to accept Geordie, only for it to hang up on me). It's all good, clean, free entertainment for my fellow passengers though...
Finally I get through to someone who tells me to fax over a request explaining pretty much the whole sorry story to them. He's actually quite helpful but the pained tones of his voice suggest he will be beaten by the system sooner rather than later.
Blood boiling and on the brink of wanton violence, it's fortunately still sunny and dry when I get home. Instead of unscrewing number plates, I grab the keys to the Cerb and go on the most fantastic 20-mile blast, nowhere in particular.
My fingers stink of oil from checking the levels before I left, the smell of 99RON is still in my nostrils, my ears are still buzzing with the sound of all the pops, crackles and bangs (windows down of course) - and I'm still shaking a bit from the buzz of the thing. I'm that chilled and mellow I'm thinking about sending a spliff for everyone at the DVLA to pass around. Then I remember I don't smoke anymore.
No-one will ever be able to take the journey I've just had away from me. It's what I hoped Cerbera ownership would be and justifies why I've got one I love after an 18-month search. I'm braced for a low point or two and I know I'll have to make sacrifices but for now all I can say is I'll do my very best to keep it in great shape for as long as I can.
Sorry if this rambles on but I touch-type and get a bit carried away sometimes. Just had to share it with you all! Fire away if you've got any similar heart-warming stories but were too shy to post...
I get there - and it turns out the form I've been sent by DVLA (belatedly, because the first one got lost in the post) is not the right one. The guy who's seeing me can't do anything without this form, so I'm given me a phone number to ring. As I get up to go I can hear the guy at the next counter isn't getting anywhere either, while people coming in are crowded round the machine that issues the 'next number' tickets as I leave. A nice old boy tells me that what he's here for isn't one of the options to press. Some are in a mild state of confusion, others look like extras from a nuclear war information film, staggering around desperately seeking help.
After several unsuccessful attempts at speaking to someone on the phone number given, I'm introduced to the novelty of giving my postcode to an automated machine just as I board my train home. Predictably the machine fails to understand me despite me giving it at various decibels, in various accents (for a second I thought it was going to accept Geordie, only for it to hang up on me). It's all good, clean, free entertainment for my fellow passengers though...
Finally I get through to someone who tells me to fax over a request explaining pretty much the whole sorry story to them. He's actually quite helpful but the pained tones of his voice suggest he will be beaten by the system sooner rather than later.
Blood boiling and on the brink of wanton violence, it's fortunately still sunny and dry when I get home. Instead of unscrewing number plates, I grab the keys to the Cerb and go on the most fantastic 20-mile blast, nowhere in particular.
My fingers stink of oil from checking the levels before I left, the smell of 99RON is still in my nostrils, my ears are still buzzing with the sound of all the pops, crackles and bangs (windows down of course) - and I'm still shaking a bit from the buzz of the thing. I'm that chilled and mellow I'm thinking about sending a spliff for everyone at the DVLA to pass around. Then I remember I don't smoke anymore.
No-one will ever be able to take the journey I've just had away from me. It's what I hoped Cerbera ownership would be and justifies why I've got one I love after an 18-month search. I'm braced for a low point or two and I know I'll have to make sacrifices but for now all I can say is I'll do my very best to keep it in great shape for as long as I can.
Sorry if this rambles on but I touch-type and get a bit carried away sometimes. Just had to share it with you all! Fire away if you've got any similar heart-warming stories but were too shy to post...
Good post, I know how you feel. I phoned DVLA to ask to retain my number after my last Cerb went up in a fireball as I was driving. The very polite lady told me I couldn't retain the rights as I hadn't informed them that I wanted the plates BEFORE the accident. I politely pointed out I wouldn't have driven it had I known what was going to happen but she seemed incapable of undertsanding. Some letters later (including DVLA sending some to the wrong city) I won
Today, I went to the Nottingham office to swap the numbers and they were great. Helpful and efficient and it only took about 15 minutes including waiting time. You'll get there
Today, I went to the Nottingham office to swap the numbers and they were great. Helpful and efficient and it only took about 15 minutes including waiting time. You'll get there
I can't recall having to visit any offices when I bought a plate for our van.
The only dealings I had with the local office, was posting them my old tax disc, and the replacement with the new VRM came back in a couple of days.
Can this not all be done by post, or do you have to go in person ?
The only dealings I had with the local office, was posting them my old tax disc, and the replacement with the new VRM came back in a couple of days.
Can this not all be done by post, or do you have to go in person ?
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