Bye-Bye Vel Satis
So, a few weeks ago my Renault Vel Satis gave a bang and a thump and conked out on the A726 as I drove home from a client. That’s the busy main road through Paisley. Fortunately I managed to turn a corner a roll to a halt in a side street.
The AA conveyed my stricken vehicle to my local Auto Engineers, L&A Motors in Greenock, where I left it overnight (it was after 6pm).
End of car. Engine seized, bits of engine block lying in sump. I did suggest to Frank that if I brought superglue he could stick it back together, but he didn’t buy the idea.
These are unusual cars. They did not sell well in the UK, possibly because Renault were never seen as a marque for executive luxury cars. So they suffered from enormous depreciation and at 5 or 6 years old could be picked up very cheap. What started as a £31,000 car could be had at for between £4000 and £5000.
I had four years very comfortable motoring from this high-spec vehicle. But I decided not to buy another as they are now all around ten years old and in any case I now wanted better fuel economy.
So now I am barging around a cowering countryside in a Toyota Avensis, by all accounts a reliable car, comfortable enough, and with a boot large enough to hold my Upright Piano Tilter.
But I miss the power of the 3.0 V6 diesel engine! And all the other luxury appurtenances of my lovely Vel Satis.
The poet Robert Burns (noted perhaps as much for his fornication as his poetry) when enamoured of a lady called Mary Morison wrote of his feelings when attending a dance, in a poem called Mary Morison, the second verse of which reads:
Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a’ the town,
I sigh’d, and said among them a’,
“Ye are na Mary Morison.”
To attempt a translation for those not versed in old lowland Scots:
Last evening, when to the live music
The dancing took place in the lighted hall,
My yearning flew towards you.
I sat, but neither heard nor saw;
This girl was pretty, that girl was fine,
Another the toast of the town,
I sighed, and said to myself of each of them
“You aren’t Mary Morison”
So, as I drive about in the Toyota, and look at other cars, I say to myself with a little sigh “You aren’t my Vel Satis”.
There is an online Forum for Vel Satis drivers and over the months I sent in some photos I took of the car in picturesque spots as I travelled around to clients’ pianos. I thought I’d post some here, including the place where the car ground to a halt, and its last resting place before uplift for scrap.
