Probably for the best, so long as you didn't have a few beers and then thought about the Jaaaaag again. Pi55ed decisions are rarely wise.
I have made many terrible decisions and many times they ended up in the scrapyard for parts, lesson learned.
Some other sober decisions, luckily most of them, ended up with a solid car and a good resale value. I am not after profit, I just want(ed) to have fun and get the feeling from as many different cars I could afford.
Lately, I have exhausted my savings on my retreat cottage and unless I sell the city house, I am quite tight, so really can not spend on a lost cause that I am sure these Jags all are.
Yet still, I am willing to spend whatever is left on my account if I ever find a near perfect or pristine 420G (or Mark X).
For this car, I could justify any expense. It may not be the best ever produced, it may not be the fastest, reliable etc but it is branded in my brain and will stay there forever.
I was trapped in a miserable marriage, living a life that was leading me to certain alcoholism, being one of the most pathetic persons one could have as a companion at the pub and it was all my fault as being ruined economically two times in the past, I was afraid to start over.
So there I was, outside a pub, having a smoke trying to decide if I will have another glass of scotch, return home to my snobby wife and her parents or go hang myself, and right in front of me, there she goes… a green on tan glorious 420G, driven by a man wearing a tweed jacket, window down, who in a steady low voice “asked” a pedestrian to hurry up crossing the street. “Oi mate, make way now, move on”.
This image tagged my brain and will be there forever. To me, this arrogant bloke in the old Jag was everything that I wasnt.
And so, went home, packed my stuff and started another chapter.
BTW since then and after many years I visited Bournemouth again searching the garages for the specific car, but nobody had any idea about it.
maybe it did not even exist in the first place and it was just my moment of epiphany.
who knows…