Nothing is ever simple

Hooray - the Alfa Duetto passed its MOT test! (should it be a 'she', given that she's based on a Giulia floorpan? Or should such mawkish sentiment be nudged to one side?)

I have insurance, I have a valid MOT certificate. Technically I should be good to go, hot to trot, ready to roll and suchlike. But, as ever in life, there is a problem.

Some years ago, our government in it's collective wisdom (hah!) decided that cars over twenty-five years old could be classed as 'Historic Vehicles' and would be exempt from paying road tax. This scheme ran quite smoothly until some years later MPs began to realise that cars they'd lusted after new were starting to fall into the age bracket, so being vindictive bastards, they stopped the scheme at 1973. Julie the Duetto (as I shall now call her, and mawkishness be damned) was born in 1967, so she falls well within the period of grace, so to speak. Theoretically, she should cost nothing to tax. I still need the certificate, but no money need change hands in acquiring it.

Fast forward a few years and the DVLA - one of the government's more profitable agencies - implements a plan (hatched by those faceless, grey-suited men in Brussels) to standardise vehicle registration documents across Europe (why?) At the last possible minute, and with the minimum possible publicity, they inform the great British public that any vehicle with an old style registration document will effectively become unregistered and illegal on July 1st 2005.

Fortunately for me, I was bleary-eyed, unable to sleep and watching some dreadful late night movie, and caught the only television advertisement to inform the country of this momentous change when it was aired at three o'clock one morning. So I sent off the old registration document and was issued with a new one. Job sorted.

Well, no.

Somewhere in the translation (in Wales, the registration document has to be bilingual, as do all official documents, utility bills and whatnot - I kid you not), Julie D has been reclassified as a common or garden Private Light Goods (PLG) taxation class, not the Historic Vehicle (HV) class she was on her old ticket.

I didn't notice this until yesterday afternoon when, MOT and Insurance Certificates clutched in sweaty palm, I approached the nearest Post Office that could process the application, only to be told: 'Thankyou Sir, that'll be one hundred and seventy pounds please.'

Bugger.

It's not all doom and gloom, though. I can pay the money, then send in the registration document for changing, and once this is done claim back the tax. I'll probably lose a month's worth, but that's only £14. Alternatively, I can drive a hundred miles, either North or South, to Bangor or Swansea - the two nearest DVLA offices, and have a fight with someone hiding behind a reinforced glass screen (having sat for several hours in a dingy waiting room, its walls painted in stained institution beige, its floor of peeling, grey, cigarette-burn pockmarked linoleum tiles) to get the document changed and a free road licence issued on the spot.

Put like that, £14 doesn't seem such a large sum, really.

And then, finally, I can drive around with the wind in my hair, the sun on my face and the rain in my lap.

A convertible?
From Italy?
In Wales?
Are they mad?

Comments

Don't we all love the EU? ;)
JamesO said…
Not especially. I've plenty of time for Europe as a loosely co-operating bunch of countries, but I can't get my head around this strange need to try and homogenise us all into one kind of people called Europeans. I like Germans, but I don't really want to be one, nor do I suppose that the Germans particularly want to by Italian, or the Italians French.

On the other hand, as someone working in the Agricultural sector, I look on with horror as President Blair barters away our farming industry for a few smiles from his European chums. The man's obviously never been hungry.
You know, German farmers say pretty much the same.

And I definitely don't want to be French. :)

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