7:18 am, May 21, 2023
I’m sure like most of you lot, I tend to spend a lot less time at physical car auctions than I used to – online sales having pretty much taken over from the live halls for quite a lot of general sales.
In many ways, though, I miss the excitement and the anticipation of the old-school auction – a situation that was always part of the thrill of the chase.
For example, the first car through.
Everyone in the trade knew not to buy the first vehicle through the block on sale night.
It was there for two reasons: one, to filter out the excitable private buyer who was ready to bid on the first bargain he could get his hands on, and two, it was often in a condition that – put simply – rhymed with ‘ducked’.
Quite often, it was one of ‘our’ cars – we’ve all made mistakes and bought absolute dogs through the block, and the easiest way to rid yourselves of them was to simply throw them back into the ring.
The auction houses knew they were trade cast-offs, and as a result they were often the first three or four lots, sold as ‘general trade sales’ rather than from a named source, and picked up by private punters who not only were unaware what heartache awaited them, but would also probably never set foot in the auction hall again.
Occasionally, though, there was the odd bargain to be had.
Twenty years ago, I picked up a 1995 Ford Probe that was the first car through, breaking my own rules.
It was ‘privately owned and entered’ rather than a general trade sale, and was simply a punter not wanting the hassle of selling their car to the public.
In many ways, I can’t say I blame them – after all, our job would be so much easier without the general public to have to contend with, along with their peculiar ways and often inflated expectations.
But I digress. That one was a real gem, and having poked all around it prior to the sale I bought it confidently for £800 and sold it three weeks later for £3,495. Not a bad return.
I was reminded of it just recently, as once again I found myself drawn to the first car through at a sale with one of the big names.
Big Mike spends more time at online auctions than at physical auction houses these days but is occasionally lured back to the live halls
It wasn’t my normal cup of tea – a 23-year-old Vauxhall Corsa that, with the best will in the world, was an utterly miserable specification.
It was part of a bulk sale from a company that buys any car (no prizes for guessing which one) and was teed up to be first through the block on a Bank Holiday Monday afternoon.
The car in question was a solid-white, five-door 1.7D Envoy.
If you know your Vauxhalls, you’ll know that translates to a spec so miserly that the only three instruments are a speedometer, fuel gauge and temperature gauge, and that you could show off your fondness for a normally aspirated diesel chugger by impressing your neighbours with your painted steel wheels.
Grim doesn’t even begin to describe it.
So why on earth was I – a seasoned trader – drawn to such a miserable expression of turn-of-the-century supermini ownership?
Well, for one simple reason: despite being 23 years old, the Corsa had covered a genuine 9,405 miles from new – the kind of mileage most people bash out in less than a year.
Either they rarely had need of or use for a car, or the previous owner realised the misery of it very early on and could barely bring themselves to drive it.
Looking back through the old MOT history, the car had covered 600 miles in its busiest year, and in the past four had done fewer than 100.
It was as close to a brand-new Corsa as you’re ever going to find, and with the rise in popularity of events such as Festival of the Unexceptional, and a whole cult following for distinctly average retro cars rising on the back of it, I figured I could buy it for a few hundred quid and pop it off the forecourt for the better part of five grand for someone to take along and win the coveted Concours de l’Ordinaire in the summer.
I also worked out that with an average of 61mpg, the thing had probably only visited a petrol station around 20 times in its entire life, whereas I tend to go that many times in a week.
Whoever owned it had clearly never experienced the joys of a Ginsters Buffet Bar for their lunch, and in my view they’ve missed out on years of pork and eggy goodness. But then, perhaps that’s why I get called Big Mike…
Anyway, I didn’t buy it. It sold for £2,050 in the end, which with fees and delivery would have been two and a half grand. Too much of a risk for a car that, if I’d ended up stuck with it, I’d have had to use.
I’ll do that all day with an unloved luxury barge, but a Corsa with a diesel engine, no turbo and no power steering? Nah, you’re all right, thanks. There’s a reason nobody wanted to drive it very far, after all.
Main image used for illustrative purposes
This feature appears in the latest edition of Car Dealer – issue 183 – along with news, views, reviews, interviews, columns and much more! Read and download it for FREE here!
