Chilly wet weather - time for boots

That time of the year has come around again, when ordinary shoes and bare ankles won't cut it. Time to get the boots out. It wasn't so very long ago that canvas shoes would do nicely, as in these two shots taken in Cornwall on the 13th and 25th September:

But now, just one month later, it's cooler and much wetter, and comfort demands something better able to keep one's feet warm and dry. So this morning I put on my trusty calf-length black boots:

This surely marks a change of season. It feels as if autumn has hurried by, and winter is already upon us. I'm still wearing ordinary shoes on sunny days - usually my lace-up grey leather ones - but if it starts to get cold it'll have to be boots only.

The black boots above were bought at Hotter in November 2018, and cost £105. They have had a lot of wear, but are still fine for the coming winter. I'm not saying that I wouldn't buy more boots if I saw some that appealed, but it's not a pressing matter. In any case I still have the brown and tan Dubarry boots I bought way back in 2011, which are my footwear of choice if contemplating a shortish winter walk out of town. And for severe conditions, I have my lovely heavy-duty green wellies that I always take when caravanning. They laugh at any kind of wet grass, and sneer at mud and snow. 

I do hope that drier conditions quickly replace the current heavy rain. I don't mind if it has to be both dry and cold. Indeed, frosty weather is generally invigorating, and there are few pleasures finer than a country walk on a crisp sunny day in November or December. Bring it on. 

Sophie - exceptionally low mileage

Three days of ownership, a few decent test drives done, and I've adapted to Sophie's controls and handling. The biggest part of the learning process is now over. Fiona had plenty of verve and power, but Sophie has considerably more. She looks similar to Fiona, but is a very different kettle of fish. That's partly down to the design advances made between 2010 and 2016; but Sophie's better steering, brakes, road-holding, power delivery and instrumentation make a big impact too. Sophie is definitely more satisfying to drive. A car for the open road.

Volvo XC60s, even in R-Design form, are family cars and not in any way proper sports cars. Which is perhaps just as well. You need a very high level of skill and road sense, and super-fast reactions, to drive such cars safely. I don't kid myself that at seventy-one I have what it takes. So I'm not going to take Sophie to her limits. I'll still drive briskly, but I want to explore the better fuel consumption I ought to get from Sophie's engine, and I don't want any further speeding points on my licence. Ever.  

Although not of course pristine, Sophie shows few signs of past ownership. Fewer than I'd expect a seven year old car to have. What goes on? Why has such an eminently drivable car been used so little? I had another look at the Service Manual for clues as to her past history, and made an analysis. These were the notes I made, now in the Introduction to the Car Diary I'll be keeping henceforth, to chronicle what happens during my ownership: 

As for Sophie's history, I now had her Service Handbook, which told me this: 

She'd had her 'Pre-delivery Service' at 5 miles on 2016 0416 (16th April 2016), the service handbook being stamped by 'Volvo Cars UK Ltd c/o Paragon Fleet Solutions, 125 Heyford Park, Upper Heyford, Bicester OX25 5HA'. Heyford Park was a vast car storage facility on the old Upper Heyford Airfield. Imported cars would be parked there to await collection by dealerships.

'Service No 1' was at 13,701 miles on 2017 0523, stamped by 'Doves Volvo Horsham, Guildford Road, Broadbridge Heath, Horsham RH12 3PW'. So 13,696 miles covered in her first 13 months. Annualised, 12,642 miles.

'Service No 2' was at 23,186 miles on 2018 0518, stamped by Hildenborough Volvo, 140 Tonbridge Road, Hildenborough, Tonbridge, Kent TN11 9HJ. So 9,490 miles covered in her next 12 months. Annualised, 9,490 miles.

'Service No 3' was at 32,848 miles on 2019 0410, stamped by 'Doves Volvo Horsham, Guildford Road, Broadbridge Heath, Horsham RH12 3PW'. So 9,662 miles covered in her next 11 months. Annualised, 10,540 miles.

'Service No 4' was at 42,257 miles on 2020 0603, stamped by 'Volvo Cars Tonbridge, Vale Rise, Tonbridge, Kent TN9 1TB'. So 9,409 miles covered in her next 14 months. Annualised, 8,064 miles.  

'Service No 5' was at 43,919 miles on 2021 0527, stamped by 'Volvo Cars Tonbridge, Vale Rise, Tonbridge, Kent TN9 1TB'. So 1,662 miles covered in her next 12 months. Annualised, 1,662 miles - the effect of Covid-19 lockdowns, and working at home.

'Service No 6' was at 52,221 miles on 2022 1027, stamped by 'Volvo Cars Tonbridge, Vale Rise, Tonbridge, Kent TN9 1TB'. So 8,302 miles covered in her next 17 months. Annualised, 5,830 miles.

'Service No 7' was at 58,513 miles on 2023 1024, stamped by 'Caffyns Volvo, 46 Lottbridge Drove, Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6PJ'. So 6,292 miles covered in her next 12 months. Annualised, 6,292 miles. 

Assuming only one previous owner, it looks as if he or she lived in the Horsham area, but worked in the Tonbridge area.

An interesting mileage record. For the first three years it was entirely 'average', if 10,000 or so is taken to be the normal mileage for an ordinary motorist. Then Covid-19 struck, and the mileage dropped down to very little. The owner clearly worked at home. But as Covid receded, the mileage was slow to build up again, suggesting that the owner was still working at home a lot. In fact Sophie covered only 13,814 miles in the 41 months between June 2020 and October 2023 - an average of just 4,043 miles per annum. Low mileage indeed! Which implies that I had bought a lightly-used car that ought to be in exceptionally good heart.

My friends and next-door neighbours Jackie and Kevin saw Sophie first on 2023 1029; my friends Jo and Clive next day on 2023 1030. Jo texted afterwards 'Sophie is lovely, you did well sweetie' and 'She's a beauty and will take the worry out of driving when you pull your caravan. Good call'. Awww.

I'm very much given to keeping diaries in much the same vein for my home, caravan, phone and laptop, as well as my car. It's a useful way of recording impressions, incidents, intentions, signs of trouble that will need action, and what was done by way of a fix. 

Sophie wasn't driven to death in her earlier life, and once Covid arrived she had only light use. I will have the benefit of that. Mind you, Sophie is in for a mild shock. She hasn't had to work very hard yet. Now she will be doing double the mileage, and some regular towing as well. But I'm sure she'll cope. And I'll be a kind mistress, believe me.

Sophie - first impressions

Fiona's sudden departure - traded in for Sophie - left me rather tearful for a day or two. I had loved that car. You can love things, those vitally important possessions that you use daily; the ones that give you faithful and reliable service. They can become the focus for your highest regard. Plenty of people would say this is a waste of love and affection. Well, I can see what they mean. But it must be better to give some love to a favourite thing, than not give love at all. Human beings need an emotional outlet, and you do whatever you can. Besides, back in the nineteenth century - and for millennia before - I would have had a horse to get around on. Nobody would have questioned my lavishing fondness and expense on a cherished horse who was also my only personal travel option. Or to make that horse a close friend. Fiona was simply the twenty-first century equivalent.

Well, she's gone, and I now have Sophie. And already I think we are going to bond. We have certainly got off to a very good start. 

The first thing I did, after all purchasing formalities at Caffyns Volvo Eastbourne had been dealt with, was to drive to the nearest filling station and get a full tank of diesel. We'd be doing a lot of motoring together over the coming weekend, regardless of how bad the weather might be! In any case, I urgently needed to get used to how Sophie handled on the road. 

After filling up, I headed for Eastbourne's seafront for a first quick photo-shoot, and to begin fine-tuning the equipment settings to my liking. The first thing that struck me was her appearance. Although grey exteriors are commonplace, and nothing special, Sophie's 'Osmium Grey' metallic paintwork did have tiny reflective particles in it that made her catch the ambient light in various ways. She could change colour, depending on the angle of view and how bright the day was. So she could be dark grey, silvery grey, or even blueish:

It wasn't the strong blue Fiona had had, of course, but it was something to distinguish Sophie from completely dull matt-grey cars. 

Could I have got a car with a more spectacular colour? No, not unless I'd been prepared to travel a very long distance to the North, or even Scotland. Research on the internet had shown me that most used diesel Volvo XC60s currently on the market in Sussex were grey, dark grey or white. Cars with more interesting colours existed, but they were (as I said) all up north, or in Scotland, way too distant to inspect them personally before test driving and buying. So although grey would never have been my preferred choice, the colour had to be a secondary consideration if I particularly wanted a low-mileage diesel XC60 with the largest and most powerful diesel engine, and all-wheel drive, the specification you need for caravanning. Pretty well Hobson's Choice.

It was at least a nice, inoffensive grey, and the R-Design detailing added stylish flashes of silver and chrome. But grey cars were ubiquitous, and rather anonymous. I didn't want my car to look like a hundred thousand others. 

Changing the number plate would add distinction. Once the V5 came through from the DVLA, I'd see to that without delay.

What else could I do? I wasn't going to modify her paintwork in any way. But I could put distinctive stickers in her windows, at a top corner front and rear, to make her easier to spot in a crowded car park. As it happened, I had two unused Britannia Rescue stickers from some years ago. These were in red and blue with a white trident symbol on them, rather eye-catching. International Rescue stickers would of course be better - or indeed IMF stickers - but this would do for the time being, until I found something more suitable. 

But it was unnecessary. I soon learned to distinguish Sophie from other grey cars. The sticker was removed next day.

Now let's move on to a batch of important positives. 

In her latter years Fiona had lost these things, which Sophie now restored:

# Door mirrors with memory, that moved in and out. Although the passenger door mirror still worked fine, the mechanism inside the driver's door mirror had worn so much that it extended fully, beyond where I wanted it to stop, right out to its useless limit. I'd turned the motors off, and had resigned myself to having fixed door mirrors. Now I had extending mirrors again, ones that worked properly.

# DAB radio reception. The DAB module was dead, and as access was difficult, replacing it was an expensive operation. It wasn't worth doing, as I still had FM. Now I could have DAB radio stations again. 

# Lit-up driver's sunshade vanity mirror. The electrical contacts were kaput, and in dim light I had no illumination. Now I could put on lipstick at night without the risk of smearing it all over my face, and tidy my hair properly.

Fiona had lacked the following, which Sophie now gave me:

# A large, very clear and colourful navigation screen. It wasn't the super-large and clear touchscreen you get in the latest cars, internet-connected and essentially Google Maps with knobs on. It was still GPS-only. But it was a great improvement on Fiona's old-tech mapping. This, for example, when parked at Bosham, the yachty spot on Chichester Harbour:

And when reversing, I got a sharper rear-camera view, with brighter yellow lines to tell me where the sides of the car were, and where my tyres were going. You can clearly see the (covered) towball. I'm just over three weeks away from Sophie's first hitch-up, when the caravan goes in for a service.

# A fully-digital dashboard display, with a choice of styles. I could now switch between Elegance, a blue and red-themed screen for drivers who simply wanted a pleasant and undistracting screen; Eco, a soothing, calming green-themed screen for drivers chiefly interested in squeezing the most miles from their fuel tank; and Performance, an exciting red and yellow themed screen that was dominated by a rev dial, with one's speed shown by bold white digital numerals: a screen for press-on drivers in a hurry. (The red line at the top edge in each shot was a refection of my red ski jacket)

I tried out the Performance screen, but after half an hour I'd had enough. It was too red, too restless. I settled for the Elegance screen. 

# Bluetooth. Which meant I could pair my phone and supply Sophie with the Internet, take hands-free phone calls if I wished, or just play my music collection through Sophie's speakers. An occasionally handy facility, but not one I'd be making very much use of. Anyway, Sophie and Prudence were paired now.

# A firmer, more controlled ride. Sophie's suspension was stiffer than Fiona's, so (for instance) there was less roll on corners. I expected the ride to be much more fidgety, with more jolts felt, but it wasn't so, although on rough roads Sophie did judder a bit. On the other hand, she felt glued to the road, reassuringly sure-footed on wet roads, with highly responsive steering - although her high-performance Pirelli tyres must have helped. 

# A little more power. Both Fiona and Sophie had the D5 five-cylinder diesel engine, but Sophie's was an uprated version with rather more oomph. Better for hauling a caravan, although successful towing really depended on the engine-gearbox relationship working well, and the auto gearbox being properly efficient. With no previous towing, and only 58,500 miles done, I could expect Sophie to take me around the country for some years ahead without the current factory-fitted auto gearbox getting too tired. But from the start I'd avoid stressing it, intending to make it last until Sophie herself was replaced.

# Sports seats. Fiona's were very good. These were super. Wonderfully comfortable and supportive.    

My initial impressions then. I'll accumulate more in the coming days. Meanwhile, two shots of Sophie at Bosham on Chichester Harbour yesterday, just as the high tide was receding, so that one could park at the water's edge. Note her very pleased new owner.

Waiting for the big moment

It's a strange sensation, the anticipation of a big occasion. In this case, the moment when I open Fiona's door for the last time and very carefully drive her to Eastbourne for the trade-in, then go through a process at the sales desk that will put Sophie's keys in my hand. 

I'm reminded of getting married. The loss of one state in exchange for another, a hopeful leap into the dark, with the long-term outcome shrouded in mystery. And too late to back out. Ah, but then I don't want to back out of having a nice new car that will enable so many things. 

Or perhaps one's arrival at a hospital for a necessary and life-enhancing operation - all consent forms signed, but the procedure still lying ahead, with the outcome likely to be good but not guaranteed to be a complete success. But then I'm not personally affected, and the prevailing emotion is growing excitement, not suppressed fear.

I've been trying to imagine how it will be, driving Sophie around Sussex for hours on a route that will put her through her paces and bond us together. The R-Design means sportier handling: what does that actually entail? I'm hoping it means that I shall have noticeably more control on the road, and will consequently feel safer. Well, I'll soon find out. The insurance quote from LV is some 50% higher than Fiona's - clearly they reckon there's more risk, if the driver is inclined to recklessness. But I don't intend to drive like an unleashed maniac. I want to be gentle with my new car, especially when towing, so that she doesn't wear out as rapidly as Fiona did.

As I write this, I know that the finance is in place, and that all the other things needed for the handover are ready. I'm just waiting to hear whether it's going to be tomorrow or the day after. 

But I've already booked six nights away in early December. I want to visit my niece and two old friends in South Wales, all of whom were saddened when Fiona's gearbox troubles made me cancel my autumn holiday bookings with the Club. But now Sophie will get me there. 

Harrison, the nice young man who has been dealing with me at Caffyns Volvo Eastbourne, and efficiently too, will phone when all is ready at his end. There's no point in badgering him today. But waiting for that phone call or email is hard to endure!

LATER, SAME DAY

I've just learned that handover will almost certainly be Friday 27th October. A day and a half ahead. 

Hmm. What shall I do tomorrow? I dare not go anywhere in Fiona, who must be kept off the road (and out of danger) until I'm summoned to Eastbourne. A trip to London by train suggests itself. I haven't been to the Tate Modern for ten years: I could remedy that.

FIRST THING, NEXT DAY

Aha. Harrison has emailed. He has pencilled in 1.00pm on Friday 27th October for the handover, and will keep in touch. Meanwhile I am to arrange insurance accordingly, and send a copy of the insurance certificate or cover note. Indeed I will!  

Adios Fiona! Hello Sophie!

It was only the 6th October that I wrote Car Decisions, a post about my car Fiona's future prospects. Now, on 23rd October, I am writing to introduce her successor. Fiona has had a long and successful run: thirteen years and 194,500 miles. But the time has come to buy another car.

As you might guess, a new component is needed, and it costs way too much. I came back from my recent West Country holiday with too many 'Transmission Service Required' messages  - and an 'abnormal emissions' warning light - showing up on my dashboard display. The auto gearbox was clearly overheating when hauling the caravan up hills, or in slow traffic. It must be pretty worn. I've been here before, in 2015, 110,000 miles ago, and recognise the signs. I had a new gearbox back then. My prognosis now, in 2023: unhitched from the caravan, Fiona will soldier on adequately for the time being; but I dare not go on a caravan trip in case a growing problem suddenly becomes a crisis. 

Anyway, I put Fiona into my usual Volvo dealership (Caffyns Volvo Worthing) a few days back, for a proper diagnostic check. They confirmed it was the auto gearbox - its oil was black and showed signs of burning. They offered to dismantle it, in case replacing an internal part would restore normal performance, but I said no: it would be a waste of time and money. The box was failing, and the best solution for several more years of demanding motoring - towing included - would be a new gearbox. 

How much? £9,418. Two-thirds of that was the part cost. Volvo no longer made pure diesels, certainly not ones with the five-cylinder engine that Fiona had. Nor the gearbox to go with that engine, although there would still be a dwindling stock of them in store around the UK - and of course in Sweden. But at double the price they had been when a current part. 

What to do? If I didn't get a new gearbox, Fiona was finished as a towing car. So I reluctantly asked when could they get hold of a new gearbox, and fit it. Not before December. But the main branch at Eastbourne might well be able to do the transplant sooner. They phoned Eastbourne; yes, next week. All right, I said, book me in. I had to take Fiona to Caffyns Volvo Eastbourne on Thursday 26th October. I would get an email confirmation.

While waiting for that email over the weekend, I began to have second thoughts. I was very fond of Fiona - our long association since 2010 and our many shared adventures formed a strong bond.  She had been made at the Volvo factory to my personal specification, another personal bond, as if I were (in a way) Fiona's mum. Furthermore, she had been paid for with inherited money, and was in essence a monument to my late Uncle Des. But, I now told myself, sentiment must be put aside. I'd stumped up for many an expensive repair or replacement part over the years, but this latest one was far too costly. It wasn't sensible to pay so much. It was time to consider another car.

Studying the used diesels Caffyns had on their website, I spotted a 2016 Volvo XC60 at the Eastbourne branch. It looked nice, was low-mileage, and cost about £19,500 if paying cash. Or if using a Volvo Purchase Plan, £600 a month for 36 months with a deposit of £2,500 up front. It was doable. I simply had to reduce my monthly savings by £600, and service the purchase plan instead. My savings for a new car in 2030 would slow down for three years, but then pick up again. Meanwhile, I'd have a decent car for caravanning. As for the deposit, I might persuade Caffyns to give me something on Fiona, despite her failing gearbox. But I could easily come up with £2,500 cash regardless. 

I slept on it, but this morning (Sunday) the idea still seemed good, so I drove down to Eastbourne early to see the car I was interested in and to explore a deal. 

Well, the early bird caught the worm.

This was what I saw, before having a test drive. The car was a late example of the first version of the XC60, with a better specification than Fiona had, and further safety refinements, although its shape and controls were similar. It was however an 'R-Design' model, which had a stiffer and sportier suspension, and all sorts of special style points. It would have been sold at a premium price when new. Its exterior colour was Osmium Grey, and it had first been registered in April 2016. The KR in the plate indicated Northampton as the first place of registration. However, the plates, which seemed original, were supplied by Doves, the Volvo dealer at Horsham in north Sussex.   

Very much like Fiona, but in grey, and with numerous small styling differences. Still attractively sleek. I prefer this kind of styling to the angular look presently favoured by Volvo. 

Inside, a sea of dark grey leather with black and chrome accents. All-digital displays, apparently with different themes. A lovely green - almost turquoise - was set; but I knew there was for instance a red theme I could use. It was all clean, with no tears or other damage to the leatherwork, even though this was, after all, a seven year old car that had probably experienced children. Some brown stains in the back carpet suggested that small feet with muddy wellies on had clambered in on a regular basis, and had left their mark. But a valet or a good shampoo would sort that out. The interior smelled fresh - no tobacco or doggy odour.  

Those R-Design sports seats were very comfortable! The special stitching was quite a feature. The carpets had it too.

I was glad to see that the four tyres were nearly new. As with Fiona, there was an actual spare tyre in the boot, albeit a space-saver one. The alloy wheels would be easy to clean. Some of the wheel nuts had lost their plastic caps, but that was only a small blemish.

It was as immaculate as you could expect a seven year old high-spec Volvo to be. So not pristine, but still an attractive car with plenty of life left in it. It had done only 58,500 miles - just over 8,000 miles a year. So indeed a low-mileage example, taking 10,000 to 12,000 miles per year as 'average'. (I do 15,000 miles annually in Fiona). I saw no sign of a towbar ever being fitted. So the engine and gearbox ought to be in extra fine fettle.

The test drive with the salesman was a success. No funny noises or unusual behaviour. Plenty of poke, yet (for a diesel) pretty quiet. It was like driving Fiona, and just as easy. I enjoyed the experience. I decided to buy it. Used Volvo diesels with big engines and all-wheel drive were becoming rare beasts - I'd better snap this one up.

So back to the showroom. I wanted a Volvo towbar fitted, something for Fiona, and then jiggle the figures around so that I would have an affordable £600 a month to pay for three years. 

Fitting the towbar upped the cost by £700 to £20,200. I paid a holding deposit of £1,000. That left, in theory, £1,500 to pay - or to be covered by a trade-in allowance on my car. A problem there. The salesman needed his manager's input on what might be allowed on Fiona. The obvious issue was that while the 'official' trade-in value for a 2010 XC60 in average condition would be £1,500 to 2,000, the cost of fixing the ailing gearbox - even limited work at trade cost - would be higher, effectively reducing Fiona's trade-in value to nil. I said I'd nevertheless expect something off, and got the distinct impression that something would be done to clinch the deal - a towbar at a big discount perhaps. 

I will hear more shortly. I'm sure a fudge of some kind will be done. 

Meanwhile I have a new car waiting in the wings, and must make my fond farewells to Fiona. Oddly enough, I don't feel too sad. Fiona has served me well, and will never be forgotten - she is the star of many a photo - but the right time has now come to buy a car that will fill the gap until I buy an all-electric chariot in or after 2030. 

And the name of that replacement car? Sophie.

And her registration? There's nothing wrong with KR16 WFX, but I have SC10 SHE ready to transfer onto my new companion. 'SC10' for some continuity. 'SHE' to refer to Sophie herself - or possibly to her driver!

One nice footnote. Sophie is green enough to be exempt from the London ULEZ charge. So now I can visit my nephew and his family without paying an arm and a leg.

SEQUEL

Next day I agreed to a £200 reduction in the purchase price, to take Fiona off my hands. I can't look for a private sale without first having the gearbox fixed, and that would leave me paying out much more than I could hope to make. I save money and trouble if Caffyns buy the car from me. They'll put her straight into a car auction, to be bid for 'as seen'. Fiona might well sell on her still-good looks and spec, and if so they'd make a few hundred. But if there's no bid, the next step would be a disposal to a scrap dealer. So my £200 really represents a share of the auction or scrapping proceeds. 

It would be nice to encounter Fiona in new hands one day. But that probably won't happen.

AN INSIGHT

Now I see why cars generally tow caravans at modest speeds. It's not because the car lacks pulling power: it's because the driver wants to be kind to the gearbox. Keeping up a moderate but steady forward momentum is the thing. I always liked to tow with rather more pace, and not hold people up. But fast and spritely towing clearly wears out gearboxes prematurely. So I'll try to avoid that with Sophie.

A CONSOLATION

Throughout Fiona's life, I kept a 'Car Diary' and made notes of each event. I see that the opening essay in 2010 on why I was buying her, and what I was hoping for, mentions that I expected to keep her for thirteen years. I'd forgotten that. Well, expectation fulfilled! 

Time to binge on Inspector Morse

Staunch and unflinching readers of this blog may recall a downbeat post I published on 28th March titled Frozen in Yeovil. It was downbeat because my post (illustrated as ever with many photos) revealed a Yeovil that had no sparkle whatever. In fact the town centre, although by no means lacking in modern facilities, looked tired and humdrum. It had lost its mojo. It simply wasn't worth going there. 

That's being very critical. But Yeovil redeemed itself, at least so far as I was concerned, by providing me with an entrancing moment late in 1974, when gently falling snow, a lit-up Christmas Tree, and rousing Christmas carols sung by a large choir on the green outside the parish church took my breath away. I had never forgotten it; and even if modern Yeovil is a nondescript let-down, that single brilliant memory from one cold dark afternoon many years ago still washes out any anything I might now make of the place. I have never had quite the same exalted, magical experience anywhere else. Nor - I might add - I have ever had quite the same dangerous winter drive back home on such lethally slippery roads. The angels mentioned in the carols must have harkened to my survival. 

My latest 2023 visit was somewhat enlivened by twenty minutes in the HMV shop. And readers may recall that I considered buying several DVDs to play on my TV at home. I settled on two films and a box set. I almost bought another box set, though - this one:

Ah, Inspector Morse. It certainly hadn't been the first TV crime series I'd ever watched, but it was perhaps the first of a new genre that was emerging in the 1980s, starting I think with Bergerac, where the complex and unorthodox character of the police detective, and his interactions with colleagues and people connected with the crime - always a murder - were the real story, enhanced by a particular contemporary background that would resonate with knowledgeable viewers, and indeed encourage new visitors to the place. Jersey in the Bergerac case. Oxford in the Inspector Morse case. 

And like other detectives lately appearing on TV, Morse wasn't a standard policeman. His background and outlook were different. He was an individualist who didn't really fit into any team. (A bit like me) He'd been an Oxford student - a classics scholar it seemed - which gave him the confidence to enter any of those elitist and highbrow Oxford colleges, and not be intimidated by snooty college masters. 

He was steeped in serious music, opera especially. He appreciated the finer things in life. And he was very clever. Even so, he was a flawed man, often exasperating his colleagues and superiors; and he was a drinker - too much so. Though charming when he wanted to be, Morse was a man who could be scornful and impatient. Yet he did not lack perception and human empathy. He was ever looking for love, and sometimes had it within his grasp; but it was always denied, as if the gods that bestowed insight and brilliance gave those gifts only at a high price.

Altogether, an interesting man who struck a chord with some of my own experience of life, even though I hadn't his academic background. Need I add that watching Inspector Morse made me explore opera?   

Morse was the masterly creation of the late author Colin Dexter, who could write a more cunning and intricate detective story than most. The ace card was the Oxford setting. Oxford (like Cambridge) had hitherto been - in the popular imagination - a high-minded academic city devoted almost exclusively to learning: ultra-respectable, thronging with earnest, idealistic students on bicycles. A place where serious crime was improbable, if not impossible. How could there be crime beneath those dreaming spires? Who would sully those ancient streets, riverside meadows and hallowed college lawns with blood? Dexter's genius was to show, in his Morse books, that Oxford was in fact a sewer of human greed, jealousy, snobbery and prejudice, where primitive impulses held sway, disguised and aided by social convention and expectation. Where the avoidance of scandal, the maintenance of reputation, counted for more than honesty, love or life. And where, now and then, somebody perished. 

The TV series revealed exactly the same thing. The storylines generally concluded with the downfall of a college master, or a well-regarded local businessman, or perhaps an aristocrat. People who thought their social or professional position put them above the law. I already had (and still have) a prejudice against people who claw their way to positions of power and influence, and insist on respect they do not deserve. It was pleasant to see Morse knock such persons off their pedestals, and reveal them as scoundrels. Men and women both. The sadness was, as ever, that the damage they had done couldn't be mended, only understood. It is the same in real life.

As soon as Inspector Morse began to be screened in 1987, I was hooked. I saw all but the very last episodes. This was long before you could buy box sets, let alone stream anything from the Internet. But back in the 1980s it was at least possible to form your own library of episodes by recording broadcast programmes on VHS video tape. I did that. Those recordings were not of course comparable in quality to modern DVDs. But they remained watchable for ten years or so. Eventually all those tapes were thrown away. By that time, VHS was well on its way out. 

So by 2023 it had been almost twenty-five years since I last saw any of the Inspector Morse episodes, and when I found that box set at Yeovil I was very tempted to buy it and see them all again. I resisted back in March, but the other day I was at HMV in Worthing, and finally took the plunge. Now I'm all set for an extended winter binge!

One of the special things about Inspector Morse was the music composed for it by (the now late) Barrington Pheloung. Haunting and beautiful. I'm looking forward to hearing a lot of it in the weeks ahead.

So last night I decided to blow the cobwebs off my 2008-vintage Samsung TV set and Toshiba DVD player, both unused since June, and watch Episode 1 of the first series, on Disc 1 of my box set. It was a straight adaption of Colin Dexter's book The Dead of Jericho - Jericho being an historically rather seedy canal-side part of Oxford, becoming a little more fashionable in the mid-1980s. In my study, I settled myself into my green leather reclining chair - the twin of the one in my lounge - with feet up. On the table next to me, a large mug of coffee; the remote controls for TV and DVD player; and of course LXV for grabbing pictures off the TV screen. The TV and DVD player sprang into life, and I was ready to press the 'play' button for a two-hour treat. I had of course half-forgotten The Dead of Jericho storyline, and couldn't quite remember what was coming. But that was fine.

Photos courtesy of LXV. My camera did rather well, despite the dim light. With the lens zoomed to 70mm, the TV screen almost filled the frame. To fit the 'wide-angle' 16:9 TV screen, they'd had to stretch the video picture horizontally. I suppose it had been filmed (or videoed) in 3:2 or 4:3 format. The graininess and narrow tonal range didn't matter: this was footage from the 1980s, not far off forty years ago, and much could be forgiven.

Ah yes: Morse, his sidekick Sergeant Lewis, and his burgundy-red Jaguar - even in 1987 a classic car.  

The opening scene. Choral practice. Morse is one of the singers. So is an attractive lady called Anne. They are exchanging glances a lot, so already there is a tentative connection.

Morse gives her a lift home in that lovely Jaguar. She invites him in, offers coffee, and they talk. He's keen on the ladies, but clumsy when it comes to asking for a proper date. But that doesn't matter: she obviously likes him. She explains, however, that she has a very complicated life and isn't free to do exactly as she pleases. But yes, they can have dinner soon. 

Morse has to leave it at that. Next thing he knows, she has been found dead, and he's in charge of the murder investigation. Needless to say, there are twists and turns galore, with another death, before the perpetrator is unmasked. In the course of this first episode, Morse teams up with Sergeant Lewis, looking quite youthful:

Lewis is of course an excellent contrast to Morse. They are very different, but somehow they click. Here they are together in one scene, where they discuss their progress over a pint at a pub near the crime scene - Morse insisting on a drink, Lewis wanting to refuse but giving in.

My goodness, what a spartan pub! Even in 1970, when I started work and an adult social life, and would go to pubs in and around Southampton with the new friends I'd found, I don't recall places where there wasn't a carpet on the floor, at least in the lounge bar - unless it was a country pub where slate or stone floors could be expected, and indeed looked for. Presumably that's the men-only saloon bar in the shot above, the cheaper bar to drink in. Of course, such bars were easy to clean: the formica table top could be wiped, and never needed a polish. The lino floors could be swept with a brush and mopped. Look: there's an ash tray. Those have disappeared, and only beer mats remain to advertise whatever beers are sold. I'm sure the average pub back in 1987 would have had cigarette smoke visibly hanging it the air - certainly all the city pubs I went to at lunchtime at that time were hazy inside with smokers' exhalations. It wasn't nice, but you took it for granted, like the smell of stale tobacco smoke everywhere, even on the  train taking you home.  

I enjoyed that first Morse episode. Two hours well-spent. But it was something of a culture shock. 1987 wasn't that long ago, but it seemed like a very different world. Different clothes; different cars; uniformed police who weren't dressed like soldiers; men in proper suits with shirts and ties; women in the Dallas and Dynasty-inspired fashions of the day. Easy places to park. Unconcern for walking about late at night in dark places. No street cameras. No laptops on office desks. Above all, no mobile phones, only landlines and red telephone boxes. So nobody immersed in what they see on a little screen, nobody lost in a little world. And without that world on one's handset, much more need to see and speak to other people face-to-face, to communicate properly, and get to know how other people really are. 

Personally, for all its anxieties, tensions and failings, I prefer 2023 to 1987, mainly because nowadays I have complete control over my life, good health, sufficient energy, and the means to seek out interesting things and visit beautiful places. I wasn't entirely happy in 1987, nor free, nor my own person. 

I haven't been to Oxford for years. Not since July 2016 in fact, when I went there by train from Charlbury - the only sensible way to do it, as Oxford makes life difficult for the motorist. Perhaps I should think about a quick visit this winter? Three or four nights in the caravan, somewhere near a station, so that I can take the train in as before. Hmm...

Pickups

In my recent post Car decisions, I mentioned the Ford Ranger as a possibility if Fiona ever faltered, or was forcibly retired, or her ongoing component-replacement costs just got too expensive. Here's one I saw just two days ago at my caravan dealer's premises:

That's the Ford Ranger Wildtrak from five years back, with a 3.2 litre diesel engine. The latest version uses a smaller engine, turbocharged, said to be significantly more economical; it also has a higher spec all round, inside the cabin especially. Big and bulky it may be, but it exudes capability, and definitely has presence. 

Back to my Car decisions post. I was speaking in the context of needing a diesel-powered car for pulling my caravan around the country. I wasn't being too serious about having, in particular, a Ford Ranger. After all, it's the classic tradesman's workhorse. I'm not a builder or a farmer, nor do I want that image. In fact it would look incongruous, if not ludicrous, my stepping down in a summer outfit from the cabin of such a supersized vehicle. I'm not short and dainty, but even so, a Ford Ranger - or indeed any pickup - would surely never the the first choice of a senior lady of grace and distinction unless she really did own a working farm, or perhaps stables, and went about in wellies! Pickups are designed for rough tracks, and heavy, bulky or awkwardly-shaped loads, and not for easy parking in town centres, nor ordinary trips to the supermarket. 

And yet a pickup wouldn't be a totally silly idea. I'd have my diesel engine, a high-up seat, four-wheel drive and go-anywhere capability. The 'car' would be very tough, strong and durable. That could matter if accelerating climate change leads to harsh winters (as well it might). Importantly, I could tow almost anything. Although I'd have to contend with the 'builder' image, I could enjoy a refined, double cabin as roomy as an ordinary car. The husband of one of my friends bought a Ford Ranger a while back, to replace an ageing Range Rover, wanting the replacement to (among other things) carry his pals and all their golfing gear. 

I rode in it as a passenger when visiting. I was most impressed. The cabin had all the nice things I'd want to see, and the seats were very comfortable. It drove well. Geoff (the husband) did have to choose his parking spaces with care, but with parking sensors and cameras to assist, manoeuvring the Ranger wasn't really difficult. His wife Jean liked driving it, and she is short and slender. Here she is (back in 2018) in a series of shots - we were taking their dog Basil out for a walk.

A well-appointed interior with nice leather seats and chunky controls. 

Here's Geoff in the Ranger at Milford-on-Sea on a stormy day in 2019.

And here's Geoff about to unlock the Ranger in 2021. Fiona is parked behind. We were crossing the New Forest to Hythe for lunch.

He'd restored the original number plate. The three-year purchase deal must have run its course, and he would be thinking about his next car. I think he went back to a Range Rover. I hope to see them soon, and will ask what he thought about the Ranger after that three-year trial.

As a passenger on these occasions, I paid great attention to the ride. I was struck how invincible the Ranger seemed, how powerful, and how it laughed at any road surface. It was no Rolls Royce of course; but if I had one, I would feel safe and protected, able to explore where I wanted to, and would never have any worries that my current caravan, or any newer one I bought - inevitably a little larger - would be too heavy to tow. 

I should emphasise that Fiona is not on her way out, nor do I want to part with her. And no pickup is going to drive as well as Fiona can, nor give me quite the same level of comfort. However, I think I would be daft not to at least consider one, if my plan to keep Fiona on the road for the next few years proves unviable.   

One obvious practical point against having a pickup is what would I do with the big loading deck behind the cabin? It would be vast compared to an ordinary car's boot. It wouldn't have to be open to the weather, of course, but how would I fill such a cavernous space? Well, I could put caravan equipment into it. Nothing special comes to mind with my current little caravan, except a folding chair and a footstool in summer if I want to sit outside. But in the future, I might well want to bring along trolleys to help me fetch water, and deal with the toilet cassette. Water containers are heavy. I won't always be able to carry them in my hands. Even now, I ask to be pitched near water taps. But trolleys take up room, They need a bigger boot than Fiona's. The rear loading space on a pickup would swallow everything I might need to bring along.

Fiona is a cosy car, beautifully comfortable even after thirteen years of intensive use. Comfort would be essential in any replacement, so that I could cope with long drives. I do think however that top-spec modern pickups would cosset me pretty well. Here, for instance, is a brand-new Toyota High-Lux I saw in a dealership in 2016 - yes, I've been curious about these vehicles for some time!

All right, a bit utilitarian on the outside. But inside...

That was seven years ago. I haven't looked at the current top spec for Toyota Hi-Luxes, but I bet it's good, and more than adequate for my needs. Also, it's not as big as a Ford Ranger: easier to park.

Food for thought. I've an idea that I will have to make a quick decision on a new or nearly-new diesel vehicle at some point in the next few years, especially if I still want to go caravanning. So I'll need to be ready. From 2030, of course, I'd probably have to opt for an electric car. Yes, the government have extended the ban on new diesels to 2035, but with manufacturers tooling up for mass electric production, very little in the way of diesels will be on offer. And main dealers may not be servicing them.

One thing I haven't so far mentioned is money. The basic proposition is that a new pickup with all the creature-comforts I'd want will cost at least a third less than a conventional car of Fiona's quality. So £40,000 instead of £60,000. That's still very big money, but a cost saving of £20,000 is not to be sniffed at. I might of course go for an ex-demo model, and so long as the spec were good enough, I wouldn't quibble overmuch about colour, although a blue exterior would be my traditional preference. Equipment? A weathertight boot cover; a towing fitting with stabilisation. The only essentials.