On eBay car auctions one often reads of all sorts of reasons for cars being sold: birth, death, marriage, divorce, promotion, emigration. But rarely is the car an unwanted gift. Terry124 stated that he was selling his Mercedes E320 CDI estate because it was ‘a Christmas present for the missis, but she hated it’.  After years of scrutinising eBay car ads, I like to think I can distinguish between sellers who have a basic respect for the truth and those who habitually palter with it. But with this one I couldn’t decide. It had a ring of truth, certainly, and it ended on a touchingly plaintive note with: ‘I’m an honest man.’ But the car’s description, with the homely bit about ‘the missis’, could so easily have been an inspired load of flannel designed to appeal to the misogynist community. The car was exactly what I was looking for, however. Low miles, full service history, ‘recent new injectors’ and standard wheels. So I called the number.

Terry answered. Estuary accent. I told him I wasn’t sure I believed the bit about his wife. That was my opener. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you what happened. My wife likes to go shopping. It’s all she does. She’s so materialistic, she likes me to pull her knickers down and slap her bottom with my current-account chequebook. We’ve been married 25 years and I love her to bits. Last Christmas I wanted to get her a car with a bigger boot so she could get more shopping bags in. So after looking at loads of cars for sale, I bought her an E320 estate. It’s got all she wants or needs: a massive boot, vanity mirror light, airbag. The boot’s so roomy, her sister’s nippers can run around in it. Perfect.

‘I thought she’d be so happy with it, she’d be dancing all over the place on the tips of her toes. I thought I’d be allowed to sleep in the house again. But she drove it once and she hated it. She said it was like driving a National Express coach. She hated the car so much she wouldn’t even look at it. I told her she’d get used to it. That was it. We had words. We had tears. What’s your name again?’

‘Jel,’ I said.

‘Jel, she spilt her popcorn. We had more upset over that car than we’ve had in the whole of our marriage put together. So I asked her what she wanted instead, and I had to go out and buy her a Skoda. That she likes. She’s always had a soft spot for a Skoda. The Merc has been sitting there on the drive ever since. It hasn’t been started for three months. I’m looking at it now and it’s breaking my heart in two. But she wants it off the drive and out of her life and that’s what’s going to happen. You know what women are like, Jel.’

‘I’m not sure that I do, Terry,’ I said.

Terry came across like a man of solid virtue. Or nine tenths virtue, anyway. I said I liked the sound of his Merc, but I’d have to first run his ad past my boy, who is my chief adviser in these matters. My boy said it was a tad overpriced and it was a pity I hadn’t gone for the facelift model. Otherwise, he gave me his blessing. Next morning I gave Terry a call. He spoke to me with easy familiarity, as though we’d known each other all our lives. I still wasn’t entirely sure whether it was because he had taken a shine to me, or because he was the Izaac Walton of the used-car trade.

He asked me to guess what he did to earn a crust. I guessed lollipop lady. Close, he said. He was a digger driver. ‘I sit up here in this earth-mover cab all day long. Sometimes I have ten lorries to load in a day, sometimes a hundred. And you know what, Jel? I’m starting to wonder if there isn’t more to life than this. Sometimes I sit up here gnawing at my own vitals with frustration. You should see this site. Massive. A hundred blokes. This morning they told us that from today smoking was banned anywhere on the site and in the cabs. Can you believe it. Four blokes walked there and then.  I enjoy a roll-up. I’m smoking one now, as it happens. They can sack me, I don’t care. What is the world coming to, Jel, do you reckon, when you can’t smoke on a building site?’

‘I have no idea, Terry,’ I said. ‘I can’t fathom it out, either. But about the Merc.’