Porsche ownership, DME failure, murder, peaks and troughs.
Discussion
Porsche ownership, what's it like eh ?
In many ways it reflects life, all facets and dimensions reflected. Mirrored if you like, laid bare.
Some times you love it, other times loathe it, ferociously.
Despise it from the very core of your inner self.
A life of manic depression. Highs and lows, exaggerated peaks and troughs, swinging across an otherwise flat line of calm.
Murderers, why are they so easy to catch ?
Provoke a man, an otherwise placid loving caring man. Poke the bear, poke it, poke poke poke, and he'll rip your head clean orf.
You can catch murderers easily because the love a man has can swing to hate, lead him to do unthinkable things, black things.
You love your wife right, love her from the core, catch the bullet, throw her from the path of stampeding horses, but catch her with another man, and see how it can turn.
A tale of joy, of woe, of extreme swings, ying and yang.
Here it is.
Talk to it, caress it massage the finest carnuba wax the very best you can afford.
Zymolise it.
Love it.
Get the hit!
Feel it,
Live it.
Foreign motorways, live the dream.
More, give me more it calls to you
Is that all you've got Big Boy, Huh ?
Cmon, I can take it.
Do it!
How does that feel ?
Pretty good.
Perr-itty goood.
Whats the other side, the other black side ?
Read on
A sorry tale of woe, of desperation, humiliation, fear of failure.
Fear of the unknown
Falling within the clasp of the unscrupulous.
Others with a dark agenda, of self.
Whats going to happen, its all there, all before you with a Porsche.
All outside, waiting on your drive.
Waiting, just to fvck your head up.
Run around inside your cranium hitting everything with a club hammer.
Ha !
The horror.
February 2nd 2007
Its the wifes birthday.
I sort out some annual leave and look forward to a day out with Mrs Metal
John Lewis Oxford Street praps.
Breakfast in their restaurant, oohh nice, why not.
New Bond Street, Hatton Garden praps.
Snow and Rock in High Holborn for a bit of ski kit, definitely.
Its all planned.
10 am, we set out.
The cars clean, decent funk on the Becker.
40 quids squirt at Tescos, their finest 99 octane, and only 89.5p per litre, spot on.
Off into town.
&8 congestion charge, no problem.
£10 per hour to park, who cares its only once a year, its her birthday, make it special.
The journey through the Victorian streets of South London pass smoothly, clear, wide.
Yummy mummies back home, their 4x4's tucked in, leaving the roads just right.
Over Vauxhall bridge, turn right.
Sweep down to Parliament Square, my guardian [road] angel keeping me safe.
Greenpeace are camping out, brrrrr.
The thought of an extra shot latte beckons.
Left and up Whitehall past Tones gaffe.
Trafalgar Square, and up towards Lillywhites Picadilly, negotiating bendy buses with ease, the flat six pushing you effortlessly onwards
Regent Street, packed. Ambulances bullying past.
I get across Oxford Street heading towards the BB frigging C and the car just cuts out.
Rev counter 0
Oil and amp light on.
Dead at the lights.
Flicking the key just enables the starter to chatter relentlessly over sounding as only the Porsche flat six can sound.
That 911 sound.
The sick sound of a 911 not starting.
My heart sinks. deep down I know Im now in the shite, and deep in it.
How many people are looking, watching , how many ?
All of them.
The embarrasement.
The feel of failure.
The sniggering almost palpable.
Ha!
Thats the swing, thats the reverse.
That'll teach him.
Ha!
Sarcky smiles from bus drivers, cabbies lorry drivers, thanks.
Thanks a lot.
Push the car to the other side of the lights.
Mrs Metal offers, don't you dare.
Lift the lid.
Not a spec out of place
Mrs Metal dispatched for lattes.
Sorry Babe.
Try again, still no luck.
Hows this feel ?
Plenty of 997s pass, yeah it was me.
Pull off a plug lead, no spark.
Its got to be the DME relay, it must be.
I changed it 18 months ago, it can't be that.
Itll be the brain.
Oh fvck, what is it ?
The amount of attention this inanimate [is it ?] object gets, to fail here, right in the West End.
Fvck!
How much is this gonna cost ?
I changed the DME relay 18months ago it cant be that, its going to be somthing else, but what.
Fvck!
Low,deep despair.
Black, black, black.
RAC come 2 hours wait.
Plenty of nutters in the West End, plenty.
"You should've bought a mondeo, ha fvcking ha."
Drunk Poles staggering.
Boot up, everyone looks at the stuttgart metal within.
Move on, nothing to see here, except my red face.
Black mood.
2 strange encounters, one from some berk
" Whats wrong with it mate "
Yeah like I can talk, Im friggin raging inside.
The 993 I want beckons, new is best, always new.
This is the kind of thing that makes you want to get rid of it, believe me.
I send the wife in a black cab to Victoria. She'll meet me at home, goes via type 911 for another DME relay
There no spark, its got to be it.
Its got to be, but then again.... fvck !
911 flatbedded home.
RAC membership a must, especially recovery, no-one fixes 911's at the roadside.
Get home at 3
Plug in the new one, it fires first time, first friggin time.
Moral, always, always carry one.
If you've got an 84 to 89 Carrera 3.2 carry a spare, always.
No spark, not firing, its the DME.
Keep this kit handy.
Its under the left front seat here,
Just push the seat back, and undo the 10mm nut, and replace.
This humiliation, waste of time, energy, and precious time can be avoided. She bought two, the others in the glove box.
Thank fvck thats all over
Peaks and troughs of 911 ownership.
I love it so much, one day Ill kill it.
£25, who'd have thunk it.
In many ways it reflects life, all facets and dimensions reflected. Mirrored if you like, laid bare.
Some times you love it, other times loathe it, ferociously.
Despise it from the very core of your inner self.
A life of manic depression. Highs and lows, exaggerated peaks and troughs, swinging across an otherwise flat line of calm.
Murderers, why are they so easy to catch ?
Provoke a man, an otherwise placid loving caring man. Poke the bear, poke it, poke poke poke, and he'll rip your head clean orf.
You can catch murderers easily because the love a man has can swing to hate, lead him to do unthinkable things, black things.
You love your wife right, love her from the core, catch the bullet, throw her from the path of stampeding horses, but catch her with another man, and see how it can turn.
A tale of joy, of woe, of extreme swings, ying and yang.
Here it is.
Talk to it, caress it massage the finest carnuba wax the very best you can afford.
Zymolise it.
Love it.
Get the hit!
Feel it,
Live it.
Foreign motorways, live the dream.
More, give me more it calls to you
Is that all you've got Big Boy, Huh ?
Cmon, I can take it.
Do it!
How does that feel ?
Pretty good.
Perr-itty goood.
Whats the other side, the other black side ?
Read on
A sorry tale of woe, of desperation, humiliation, fear of failure.
Fear of the unknown
Falling within the clasp of the unscrupulous.
Others with a dark agenda, of self.
Whats going to happen, its all there, all before you with a Porsche.
All outside, waiting on your drive.
Waiting, just to fvck your head up.
Run around inside your cranium hitting everything with a club hammer.
Ha !
The horror.
February 2nd 2007
Its the wifes birthday.
I sort out some annual leave and look forward to a day out with Mrs Metal
John Lewis Oxford Street praps.
Breakfast in their restaurant, oohh nice, why not.
New Bond Street, Hatton Garden praps.
Snow and Rock in High Holborn for a bit of ski kit, definitely.
Its all planned.
10 am, we set out.
The cars clean, decent funk on the Becker.
40 quids squirt at Tescos, their finest 99 octane, and only 89.5p per litre, spot on.
Off into town.
&8 congestion charge, no problem.
£10 per hour to park, who cares its only once a year, its her birthday, make it special.
The journey through the Victorian streets of South London pass smoothly, clear, wide.
Yummy mummies back home, their 4x4's tucked in, leaving the roads just right.
Over Vauxhall bridge, turn right.
Sweep down to Parliament Square, my guardian [road] angel keeping me safe.
Greenpeace are camping out, brrrrr.
The thought of an extra shot latte beckons.
Left and up Whitehall past Tones gaffe.
Trafalgar Square, and up towards Lillywhites Picadilly, negotiating bendy buses with ease, the flat six pushing you effortlessly onwards
Regent Street, packed. Ambulances bullying past.
I get across Oxford Street heading towards the BB frigging C and the car just cuts out.
Rev counter 0
Oil and amp light on.
Dead at the lights.
Flicking the key just enables the starter to chatter relentlessly over sounding as only the Porsche flat six can sound.
That 911 sound.
The sick sound of a 911 not starting.
My heart sinks. deep down I know Im now in the shite, and deep in it.
How many people are looking, watching , how many ?
All of them.
The embarrasement.
The feel of failure.
The sniggering almost palpable.
Ha!
Thats the swing, thats the reverse.
That'll teach him.
Ha!
Sarcky smiles from bus drivers, cabbies lorry drivers, thanks.
Thanks a lot.
Push the car to the other side of the lights.
Mrs Metal offers, don't you dare.
Lift the lid.
Not a spec out of place
Mrs Metal dispatched for lattes.
Sorry Babe.
Try again, still no luck.
Hows this feel ?
Plenty of 997s pass, yeah it was me.
Pull off a plug lead, no spark.
Its got to be the DME relay, it must be.
I changed it 18 months ago, it can't be that.
Itll be the brain.
Oh fvck, what is it ?
The amount of attention this inanimate [is it ?] object gets, to fail here, right in the West End.
Fvck!
How much is this gonna cost ?
I changed the DME relay 18months ago it cant be that, its going to be somthing else, but what.
Fvck!
Low,deep despair.
Black, black, black.
RAC come 2 hours wait.
Plenty of nutters in the West End, plenty.
"You should've bought a mondeo, ha fvcking ha."
Drunk Poles staggering.
Boot up, everyone looks at the stuttgart metal within.
Move on, nothing to see here, except my red face.
Black mood.
2 strange encounters, one from some berk
" Whats wrong with it mate "
Yeah like I can talk, Im friggin raging inside.
The 993 I want beckons, new is best, always new.
This is the kind of thing that makes you want to get rid of it, believe me.
I send the wife in a black cab to Victoria. She'll meet me at home, goes via type 911 for another DME relay
There no spark, its got to be it.
Its got to be, but then again.... fvck !
911 flatbedded home.
RAC membership a must, especially recovery, no-one fixes 911's at the roadside.
Get home at 3
Plug in the new one, it fires first time, first friggin time.
Moral, always, always carry one.
If you've got an 84 to 89 Carrera 3.2 carry a spare, always.
No spark, not firing, its the DME.
Keep this kit handy.
Its under the left front seat here,
Just push the seat back, and undo the 10mm nut, and replace.
This humiliation, waste of time, energy, and precious time can be avoided. She bought two, the others in the glove box.
Thank fvck thats all over
Peaks and troughs of 911 ownership.
I love it so much, one day Ill kill it.
£25, who'd have thunk it.
I feel your pain.
I feel your pain, but look on the bright side, all you had to do was suffer some indignity and inconvenience.
Picture yourself on your own in an '86 Cabriolet, mid-summer on the Autostrada between Genoa and Milan. The bit which is all winding tunnels with no hard shoulder in the dark bits..... Then your Cylinder Head Temp Sensor goes south.... Cough, splutter, then nothing except the noise of large artic's making evasive maneouvers behind you.
Salvation miraculously appears just when you believe death is the only possible outcome in the figure of an Italian Auto Club driver clad in dayglo orange who has somehow pulled in front of you and is carrying a tow cable back to you whilst looking remarkably terrified.
Several miles away from the Autostrada in the depths of a part of Italy you never knew existed, speaking no italian you attempt to stop the over enthusiastic garage from removing the engine to try and diagnose the fault. Eventually, with failing mobile phone battery, you manage to arrange the AA to take your pride and joy to the experts. Sadly that will have to wait until the morning so for the night you have the only option of the cheapest possible Italian "hotel" where from the noises two doors away, the local prostitute is busy all night.....
Great car that left me with some indelable memories....
Picture yourself on your own in an '86 Cabriolet, mid-summer on the Autostrada between Genoa and Milan. The bit which is all winding tunnels with no hard shoulder in the dark bits..... Then your Cylinder Head Temp Sensor goes south.... Cough, splutter, then nothing except the noise of large artic's making evasive maneouvers behind you.
Salvation miraculously appears just when you believe death is the only possible outcome in the figure of an Italian Auto Club driver clad in dayglo orange who has somehow pulled in front of you and is carrying a tow cable back to you whilst looking remarkably terrified.
Several miles away from the Autostrada in the depths of a part of Italy you never knew existed, speaking no italian you attempt to stop the over enthusiastic garage from removing the engine to try and diagnose the fault. Eventually, with failing mobile phone battery, you manage to arrange the AA to take your pride and joy to the experts. Sadly that will have to wait until the morning so for the night you have the only option of the cheapest possible Italian "hotel" where from the noises two doors away, the local prostitute is busy all night.....
Great car that left me with some indelable memories....
I could post a similar story about my wife. When she starts she's a great ride and a joy to be with. BUT if she decides she doesn't want to start then my blood starts to boil and i want to change her for a newer model.
Cars and women. no difference.
Cars and women. no difference.
Edited by jonnydangerous on Friday 2nd February 19:37
Some brilliant writing, weve all been there, and all will again.
Old cars have this pull, it's a pull new cars don't possess, never will, it's a pull owners of new cars can never understand "you just can't afford a new car" they say.
It's a pull that is only matched by that ex girlfriend you once had, the one who was very high maintenance, slightly insane, very likely to embarrass you in public but when it was good it was very good, and when it was bad it was still pretty good. She's the one that if she called at 3 in the morning you would leave your home and family behind, and walk a thousand miles over burning broken glass, and so we find ourselves on a sunday afternoon laying on our back wondering why we have an old car that needs the starter motor changing, a job that involves arms 8 feet long with 18 joints, all while laying on your back with underseal, oil and rust dropping in your eyes.............
The answer becomes apparent when the job is done and you turn the key............
Old cars have this pull, it's a pull new cars don't possess, never will, it's a pull owners of new cars can never understand "you just can't afford a new car" they say.
It's a pull that is only matched by that ex girlfriend you once had, the one who was very high maintenance, slightly insane, very likely to embarrass you in public but when it was good it was very good, and when it was bad it was still pretty good. She's the one that if she called at 3 in the morning you would leave your home and family behind, and walk a thousand miles over burning broken glass, and so we find ourselves on a sunday afternoon laying on our back wondering why we have an old car that needs the starter motor changing, a job that involves arms 8 feet long with 18 joints, all while laying on your back with underseal, oil and rust dropping in your eyes.............
The answer becomes apparent when the job is done and you turn the key............
I felt for you there buddy. There's nothing like a few "should have bought a Hyundai/Nissan/Ford mate!" comments to make you feel really good about the whole situation.
It's alright, in a few years you'll only remember the good times - breakdowns and unpleasant repair bills will be obliterated by memory morphine...
It's alright, in a few years you'll only remember the good times - breakdowns and unpleasant repair bills will be obliterated by memory morphine...
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