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Anyone following these musings will know that I have a soft spot for old Mercedes cars; the interest in the marque fired ever since I first belted a modern C-class saloon from speed de-restricted Germany to my Mum’s house in the UK, back in the mid nineties. When I took the wheel for the first time driving just changed its purpose there and then from mere transport to something more like movement with style. By fooling a contract agency into thinking I needed a large car to haul test equipment I furthered the relationship with M-B obtaining a six month hire on another C-class, this time a station wagon or estate.
That was again in Germany and wearing city of Hannover plates it was delivered to my hotel on a transporter. Imagine the schoolkid thrill I got the first time I used it for work seeing the odometer reading sitting at just over seven kilometres! I can still smell that brand new car smell, I used to park it in places I could see it, I even washed its dark blue metallic paint every weekend and it was a bloody hire car! Broke my heart to give it back and think of all the abuse it was in for. The twenty thousand k’s I clocked up were probably the best of its life.
There’s definitely something special about driving a Benz and until you have done so you’ll have to take my word for it. It’s all about being cosseted in craftsmanship, not just getting from A to B but doing it properly. Mercedes cars do things so much better than other vehicles, the E320 we had on long term hire in Munich could rush us to the airport at the last minute, touching 240km/h without fluster, whereas the Ford Mondeo would shriek along the autobahn flat out as if it were about to burst! Then there’s the fabulous Silver Arrows racers from the pre and post World War II eras driven hard as ever to countless victories by some of the bravest racers the world has ever seen. The stuff of true motorsporting legends.
So the passing over of my white 1968 280SE Panzer in France didn’t permanently end the Benz passion but merely left a temporary void. Rewind a year or so and I found myself helped out of transport dire straits here in Oz with the acquisition of the 230TE, which became known in the family as “the Rocket” and is indeed documented richly in these very internet pages. The Rocket saw sterling service with us all and looked after the whole family until alternative transport arrived. All the time the searchlights swept and the radar blipped away until another late 60’s Mercedes salon came in to range. It was one of a pair at a car trader’s yard some 200km north of us and I was immediately keen to view the 1969 280SE, again a white one. Some phone calls later revealed much interest in the car and by the time I was able to steal a Saturday to go up there, it had gone. Although the other one of the pair was still there and nobody had given it a second look, its faded green paint job and slightly dull jewelry appealing to very few people.
And that car just sat there for several months, we had family visit for a month, I then incapacitated my left arm for more than a month by nearly removing a finger and then came Christmas and more visitors. All this time passed and still the updated internet pictures of the traders stock in ‘my favourites’ showed the old Benz sitting forlorn and in need of a home. It had to be worth a look, after all the second brother was older than the 280SE and wore fins on his back.
Last Month then, Ted and I stole a Saturday and took the Rocket up to see this old Merc and as soon as I clapped eyes on it all sentimental thoughts for our trusty wagon were gone. It looked just like what I was hankering after. There were two big hurdles to cross first as I had already promised that it must;
a) not be in need of welding to repair major rust
b) be available only as a straight swap for the Rocket…
To cut out the rest of the bits about lying underneath it, poking about in its inner door openings and hurling it round the block with Ted riding shotgun, it would suffice to say that we crossed those hurdles and it’s mine!
The late Alan Clark, UK MP and fabulously ostentatious Bentley fanatic, Porsche driver and all round good egg said in his book that you should buy the car you want – not the one you think you should have.
I collected it the following week on a hot Friday afternoon, arranging to meet the trader half way between his place and ours, easing my journey home and allowing him a visit to his elderly sister on the coast – or so he said, I didn’t really care. And wasn’t a bit nervous waiting opposite the nominated Shell station for this guy to turn up, the object of this exercise was simple and as long as all the paperwork lined up, was there and signed I’d be happy. Sure enough on the dot, we were doing the deal, paperwork exchanged, hands shaken and I hit the freeway sitting at a steady 100km/h all the way to North Sydney.
The fun and games began as the mid afternoon traffic built up but I was quickly used to the four manual speeds and shifting cogs on the steering column added to the feeling of historic special-ness. On the freeway my heart had been in my mouth, now it was just a couple of inches toward the back of my throat as I crawled over the Sydney Harbour Bridge to hand over my dollars at the toll. What a feeling though, here I was cruising over one of the most famous man-made landmarks in the world in a 1964 Mercedes Fintail 220S, that was mine!
I thought I was over the worst of Friday’s rush until I hit the four solid lanes of southbound crawling long weekenders. There were tank-like 4×4s and SUVs sprouting surfboards and bikes, all dragging caravans, boats and camp trailers. Jinking from lane to lane all vying for space with the first of the regular commuters legging it home for a beer and a barby; it was busy. All the time the temperature gauge sat steady at 180F, the serious warning lights stayed off and the old green barge just quietly made its way home. Things eased off once out into the suburbs, my heart sank slowly back into my chest and I really needn’t have worried at all.
It didn’t come home to a rapturous welcome; as expected there has been a level of uncertainty over its looks and a few unfair comments about rust and general paint condition and I would admit that it’s faded sea green paint isn’t going to win any concours d’elegance awards but like Mr Clark also said, restorations are for certain people only. After a few weeks now it’s definitely one of the family, I know that coz the kids have happily accepted its given nickname from when it was sitting all alone in the car yard, Shrek lives here now.
High time for a rant. I’ve reached a bad point with life in Australia, so much so that I’ve currently got little motivation to stay here beyond October when my current temporary resident’s visa expires. Why should I?
Supplied a dossier half an inch thick for said temporary visa, they’ve even got certified copies of my O-level certificate, something that is over 26 years old. I’ve been working in a very specialized technical role for 16 months now all the time hoping for the chance of a so-called ‘permanent’ employee’s position which would ease my path towards a permanent resident’s visa. Even had a discussion a while back with the firm assuring me there was a position as soon as my 12 months was up
After the latest round of chats, the permy role has disappeared from the table now so I’m staring at 6 months of contract here until October and then nobody can say. If by that time I haven’t fixed things by finding another position doing, according to my visa terms “exactly the same job” and the visa we’re on expires the Dept of Immigration will come to the office to find me and start the proceedings for us to leave Australia. None of this is an exaggeration; I have personally spoken to several people who can verify this as the truth.
Anyway, why the fuck should I want to stay in a country with such a ridiculous system that does not allow someone who has submitted a half inch thick file of documentation for a temporary visa to further that application to permanent status without the need for re-application, triplication and financial ruination? Why did they let me into a postion of such high skill requirements and yet bar my path to a more secure future with red tape? Was it not enough? And now I find out that this ‘role’ doesn’t exist on the Government’s updated list of skills requirements. No, I am told that permanent resident’s status is different to temporary, so it’s a different process to apply for the visa. Starting with me having to sit a complex, high level examination in English language to amass enough points to just apply. Bullshit, shoulda got a two-bob degree in bricklaying.
Who is compliing such backward rules and regulations? And why are the same people going overseas to other countries and inviting people to come and live in Australia to balance out the skills shortgage? And why are these same people reporting in the national press that there will have to be double the numbers of immigrants needed in the coming years to address the skills shortage?
And why the bloody hell (to quote a well known Australian phrase) is there a skills shortage anyway in a country of 21 million people, of which probably only 12 million of those actually fall into a category of employable? Pray somebody tell me why “the Lucky Country” needs to import skills from ouside at such an alarming rate? Could it be to do with the fact that Australian born Australians aren’t of a suitably high enough calibre to fill the skills needed? Can’t they find enough people to lay bricks here? Or, more worrying perhaps it’s to do with the fact that the people in power aren’t even remotely qualified on an intellectual level to be doing their jobs? Immigrants coming to Australia on a temporary business visa without a degree – we’ll stop them getting permanent status each and every one until we’ve had a few thousand dollars worth of paperwork to see if they are skilled enough. Instead, they solve every problem with a great big dollop of overkill. Yep, let’s open this peanut with a bloody sledgehammer. Kids racing cars – we’ll crush their cars. Need some skilled labour, get over to the UK/Europe with a few Expo’s and see if we can’t rake in some carpenters and bricklayers, (http://www.immi.gov.au/skillexpos/overseas.htm).
Is it any wonder that the resentment towards immigrant workers just grows and grows?
As long as the Department of Immigration has a multi-page list of skills (http://www.immi.gov.au/allforms/pdf/1121i.pdf) in which Australia is deficient and which includes such surprising things as marine biologists (as guardians of the Great Barrier Reef why does Australia need outside marine biologists?), interpreters (there’s a cynical link in there somewhere, considering I have to sit an English exam), drug and alcohol counsellors (poignant), oenologists (look it up –you’ll love it), blacksmiths, bricklayers, drainers (?), singers, engravers, fitters, butchers, glass blowers, greenkeepers, head gardeners (isn’t most of Australia bush land or desert?) and just about every single kind of profession you can think of then it’s no small wonder they also have the most non-sensical immigration procedures ever devised by immigrants.
And on the subject of lists there is even a super-dooper list of a few people and professions that they really, really need. But if you don’t pass their amazing stringent test of Australian standards, then you can’t practice the skills they really, really need. But that’s another story.
It’s quite possibly the most bizarre and ridiculous situation a so-called civilized, modern world country could ever find itself in.
Motivation on a postcard please…
