Whilst up in Antwerp I took full advantage and took the opportunity to take some photos with Kris. Near the garage is a flyover and underneath is an area that has been covered in graffiti as part of a project. I will post these photos to the photo blog, which I have not updated for some time now, much to my shame.
Anyway, following the photos and a spot of lunch with our mother-in-law, Kris kindly dropped me back at the garage. The service was relatively expensive, but then I do not have a benchmark to which I could compare it. Being diligent I checked the bill and the items on it, grumpily noting that I had been charged almost 6 euros for screen wash, annoying as it did not require filling and I have gallons of the stuff at home. I did not contest the bill. As I walked to the car I continued to examine the invoice and noted that I had been charged for 7 litres of oil, I thought that this was rather a lot and I resolved to check it in the handbook. Unwisely I tried to check the handbook whilst waiting at traffic lights and sod's law meant that I never really got the chance. Anyway, when I was home I looked it up and to my surprise and concern it said that a 2.2L engine required 5.86 litres of oil.
I did not get round to checking the oil until Saturday, after having taken the cat to the vet (another story). Anyway to check the oil it needs to be warm and the car is to have stood for at least 10 minutes on a level surface. When I checked, the indication, which is electronic, informed me that the car had been overfilled and was not to be driven, this was after driving approximately 66kms in this condition. I was not impressed as a) they garage had potentially damaged my car and b) they had charged me extra for the privilage of doing so! I got on to Jaguar Assist and they swung into action, it was not long before a flatbed came along to tow my car back to the garage in Antwerp, it is rather sad and embarrassing to watch your car being taken away... I was in a spot of bother, no car!
Jaguar Assist then arranged for me to pick up a hire car to cover the absence of my own. An duly took me to the airport where I was told to report to the Europcar desk, to my immediate disappointment I was given the keys to an Astra. I was further told that the car would be in row 5 of the parking area, there was no row 5 and in fact it was in row 1 as I eventually discovered. My trial had only just begun...
I tried to check the car for damage but being a brown car and in the poor light of the parking area I could not see any other damage. More to the point I had not been given a pen either and I did not have one so if I had wanted to record any further details of damage I would have had to have written it in my blood having first gouged a strip out of my arm and fashioning a scribe from a rusty nail embedded in the concrete of the car park. Maybe I go too far with this description? Thankfully I could find no other damage and now I had only to work out how to start the car.
The car was a manual and, quaintly, there was a keyhole ignition, dated or what? I could not start the car and soon noticed that an orange light illuminated to indicate that I must press the pedal. Now there are only three pedals to choose from and being as I drive an automatic I assumed I should press the brake. Nope. I after several attempts and chanting a special incantation I had still not succeeded in bringing the machine into life. Finally I pressed the clutch down and woof, well, purr really and the engine came to life.
I managed to manoeuvre out of the concrete jungle that was the car park and made the rendezvous with my wife at the nearby Shell garage so that we could go in convoy back to the house, this, it turns out, was an utterly pointless exercise. I quickly realised that the car had the acceleration properties of a fully loaded supertanker that has been welded to the sea bed and then weighted down for good measure by some old battleships tied to the back end. An glided away as I apparently made little progress in keeping pace. My main concern was how I was to negotiate the journey back past junctions and through traffic, which was akin to a toddler wandering aimlessly across the M25 at rush hour on a really bad day, when all of the worst drivers are out and the police have decided to go on a tea break.
I engaged the highly advanced navigation and sensor suite, me the driver, and drove very defensively home. I really was not looking forward to doing battle on the trip to work the next day. An asked me what size the engine was on the car and I replied that I was not sure it actually had an engine in it... She had been waiting at home for me, having lost sight of me after leaving the Shell garage.
I rang Jaguar Assist to explain that I was dissatisfied with the vehicle, my only statement was that the car was not like for like, I could think of no better way to put it. The gentleman on the phone agreed entirely and said that it is not what they would expect, he resolved to sort it out as soon as possible.
Sure enough I got a call to say that I could have either a Mercedes B Class or a Volvo XC 60, petrol and diesel respectively. I choose the Volvo and agreed to pick it up at the airport on Monday. In the meantime the issue with my car had been identified...
It would appear that my oil sensor, the one that indicates how much is in the sump, was faulty. Apparently the garage had put the oil in and then the car indicated that there was not enough and so they put more in and thus overfilled. Now I can only take this at face value but, if the handbook says that it requires 5.86 litres of oil and you have just removed all of it after a service then surely you just measure out the 5.86 and put it into the engine? There is also the question of why I was charged for 7 litres of oil on the bill, I will of course put this to the Jaguar Assist team when they get back to me. Cynically I am of the opinion that if the 'fault' is the sensor then the garage was not negligent and the claim would be covered under the warranty as opposed to the garage itself which made the error. We shall see.
I turned up at the airport after work at around 19.00, I was late getting away from work again. The rental desk did not have a reservation, helpful I thought. I did not have a booking number and so had to get on to Jaguar Assist, who then got on to their agent. Whilst I was waiting and the two staff were dealing with the long queue of customers, the telephone on their desk was ringing away. One of the staff asked me if I had got through and I said they are probably trying to ring you. They shrugged and said oh well, we are busy. The words that entered my head cannot be written down... Anyway, to my total lack of surprise I got a call from a lady who told me she could not get through and I explained in a very loud voice that they had not answered their telephone. She agreed to hold on until one of them had finished dealing with their current customer. The lady explained that she had faxed, text, emailed, carved in stone, sent smoke signals and used a few other ancient techniques of communicating her request to the company and they had not apparently responded or confirmed the booking. When eventually the lady at the rental company had finished discussing the cultural sights of Brussels with the professor of how to occupy time, I handed her my phone. She found the fax, buried in the cellar of the restaurant next door and after dusting it down and feigning surprise, apologised to the lady on the phone and got on with transcribing the details onto the computer and then finding the key.
Eventually I was issued with they key to the car and I made my way back to the parking area. The car was, thankfully, where she said it would be and soon I was on the road. I am happy to report that this car is far better equipped and powered to deal with the commute. In fact it is rather fun to drive. I only lost an hour in the airport picking it up!
Today is April Fool's day, so I am wondering what exciting news will come my way as to the progress of my car.
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