Predictably enough, Aviva ruined Panda purchase day for me. Never mind that it’s their fault I’m having to buy a car the size of a Tonka toy with a hairdryer for an engine.
I can’t afford the Volvo any more, of course, because I’ve got the outstanding ‘injury’ claim by the Slobs against me.
That looks set to drag on for months, possibly years, dragging with it my Volvo insurance premium to £1,136 and rising. So I’ve bought myself a Fiat with just enough room for me and an embarrassed-looking spaniel in the back seat. Although Cydney is sceptical, I rather like it. It doesn’t matter what gear you’re in, they’re all the same. And if you can’t park, you just grab it by the roof rack and lift it into a space.
I rang up to switch the policy from the house of the man I’d bought the car from, a terribly nice City worker from New Zealand. Very calm. Well, he was until he had me sitting in his living room trying to arrange insurance cover. After 20 minutes listening to me begging Aviva to give me the quote they offered me the day before I bought the car — and not one for £60 more — he looked like he was going to cry.
‘But you said £490 for a Panda Eleganza 1.2 yesterday.’
‘Yes, but that was before we had the registration of the car.’
‘Can we just start again? This is worse than the Volvo.’
‘Do you have another car with us then?’
‘Yes, that’s the whole point.’
‘Oh, well. We can just switch the insurance.’
‘I thought that’s what we were doing.’
‘No, we just generated a new quote. If we switch it, it will be much lower…’ And she tapped away at her computer keys. ‘Right, I’ve switched your Volvo to a Panda and …yes, there’s just £17 to pay! That’s good, isn’t it?’
But of course it wasn’t £17 to insure a Fiat Panda. It was £17 for the admin charge to swap the insurance from the Volvo to the Panda and to insure the Panda for two days until the end of my current term.
They couldn’t tell me what the premium for the year ahead would be until I had paid the £17.
‘So, let’s get this straight. I have to pay you £17 to even get the quote for
what I will have to pay you to insure the Panda?’
‘Yes, that’s right. But it should be around £490.’
‘But hang on, the other quote was £548. So if I pay the £17 to switch, and the switching quote isn’t £490 after all, but more like £548, then when you add the £17, that makes it £570.’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, god, no. No!’
At this point, the nice, quiet, unemotional man from New Zealand started to wipe tears from his eyes. Thankfully, my infallible builder boyfriend came to the rescue by driving the Fiat home using his trade policy. He then made me a stiff cup of tea and sat me down to do battle from my kitchen table. I phoned the call centre again.
‘How’s your day going?’ said an unfeasibly cheerful man called Martin.
‘Not good. I can’t get insurance on a car I’ve just bought because I can’t get insurance on the car I had before.’
‘How’s your day going anyway?’ said Martin, ecstatically.
I implored him to please, in the name of all that he holds sacred, stop asking me about my day and generate me a quote for a Fiat Panda. After much tapping he proclaimed: ‘It looks like there’s just £17 to pay!’
‘No, there isn’t,’ I said, very slowly. ‘I don’t want to insure the Panda for two days.’
‘Oh,’ said Martin, crestfallen.
He tapped away again, and informed me joyously that with my five years’ no claims bonus it was just £420 for the year.
‘No, it isn’t,’ I told him even more slowly. ‘I don’t have a five-year no claims. I have three years. You docked two, for not crashing into the Slobs, remember? It’s on the file.’
He put me on hold and came back. ‘You’re right,’ he said, sounding impressed. ‘So, with three years’ no claims,’ he chirruped, ‘…fully comp …£350 excess …that’s…’
What? What? What?
‘…£590!’
‘No, it’s not!’ I shouted.
‘There’s no need to panic.’
‘Oh, there really is.’
He put me on hold again. When he came back he said: ‘You’re right. If we switch you over like this …that’s £17 …then we put this on here …then we take that there …and put that with that …that’s now one year fully comp …at…’
What? What? For the love of god, what?
‘…£444…’
‘Stop!’ I shouted, hitting the table with the palm of my hand as if I was hitting the big red button on a fruit machine. Jackpot!
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