My first-gen Audi TT is officially for sale. And has been for the past six months. But please, for the love of God (other deities available), don’t enquire about it any time soon, because it’s not for sale.
Confused? Me too. And I’m the seller. Although probably not.
Before we go any further, trust me: I’m not one of those idiots dipping their toe in the water to determine how much interest my car would generate should I hypothetically decide to sell it at some juncture.
As I have no intention of selling it. Ever. So this ploy is of no interest to me. However, rest assured, I’m a genuine seller, not here to mess you about. Only I will, because technically the car isn’t for sale. I’m not sure if I mentioned that earlier.
Hello, and welcome to the place where someone with a lifetime of indecisiveness meets someone who can’t say goodbye to a particular car. The perfect storm. The ultimate impasse.
Thing is, I need to sell my TT to free up some money, as it’s my only feasible source of collateral right now.
That being said, it’s my beloved first-gen TT. So I therefore don’t wish to part company with it. Ever.
You hearing me?
When it comes to enquiries – and there have been many – I tend to delay responding. And when I eventually do, after the receipt of several more insistent messages, I deploy diversion tactics.
My favourite being: “I’m currently away and won’t be back till a week on Wednesday.” Which has a high and consistent record of subterfuge success. Until a week on Wednesday comes round. At which point I have to quickly think on my feet and come up with another excuse.
My other failsafe response is to tell the TT suitor that it’s booked in for a timing belt kit the following week, so they should hang fire until then. Hoping they source an alternative TT in the interim and never bother me – or wrestle my TT from my steely grip – ever again.
Which works a treat right up until they message me the following week asking if it’s now available. Along with its shiny new timing belt and water pump.
But wait for it. I have the perfect get-out-of-jail-free card if, or should, that eventuality play out.
I have a girlfriend
That being: my girlfriend’s car is temporarily off the road and she desperately needs to use mine to get to and from her place of employment five days a week for the foreseeable. Which is a fantastic retort. Providing they don’t know my girlfriend.
Because if they do, they’ll know my girlfriend doesn’t drive. Nor is she in possession of a driving licence. She does have a job, mind. And her own car. Which is very much on the road.
Most would-be buyers of my first-gen TT will, at some point, lose the will. To both own my first-gen TT and possibly live. Thanks to my blatant tardiness and playing fast and loose with them. Some will even go as far as to accuse me of acting like someone who doesn’t actually want to sell the car, and have the audacity to question my legitimacy.
To be honest, I have no intention of selling my TT to people like that. I think far too much of it. I also shouldn’t have to deal with such slander and character assassinations.
What’s more, I have no intention of selling the car to anyone, as you might have gathered by this point. Which is awesome news for me. But not such welcome news to the ears of my debtors. But what do they know?
Have they any idea just how attached I am to my first-gen TT? No. Exactly. Then don’t sit in judgement.
It’s a future classic. But still not for sale
It’s a future classic, you know. I mean the first-gen TT. Not mine, of course. Mine is a mere 180bhp 8N, and therefore two-a-penny.
I’d be selling it on if I didn’t love it. I might even have advertised it for sale.
Although that would be terribly misleading of me, as I have absolutely no intention of ever parting company with it – unless it fails its MOT and it costs more to fix than its current market value.
In which case I’ll sell it, obviously.
But I won’t, will I…
I’ll simply SORN it and scour Google Images of what my beloved first-gen TT might look like if I spent a lot of money on it to return this stone-cold future classic to its former glories.
And then put it up for sale. Never to actually sell it.
Because I’ll always think of a million reasons why I don’t want to sell it. Approximately 30 seconds after I’ve convinced myself I should really sell it. I’m basically living through car-selling Groundhog Day. But I don’t necessarily think I’m alone in this.
Yes. Welcome to the world of the car person who struggles to let go. Move on. Accept fate. Control narratives…
Tell me: is there a dedicated helpline for people like us? Is there funding available to set up a self-help group?
A safe place where like-minded car ‘sellers’ can sit round in a circle discussing their plight. Seeking guidance and advice from trained professionals. Sharing horror stories about webuyanycar.com.
FOOTNOTE: If you’re interested in buying my ‘future classic’ first-gen TT, then save yourself the bother and don’t call me on a contact number I have no intention of giving you. Ever.
