Living the dream

Sep 07, 2025

I have an infuriating encyclopedia of bullshittery between my ears this week. By that I mean that my head is fried trying to remember random details about stuff I don’t normally need, or care (or indeed want) to remember. Like car maintenance, for example. What grown woman wakes up at three o’clock in the morning, suddenly thinking about the logistics of smog tests and the importance of miles per gallon? Yours, bloody truly, that’s who.

You see, the thing is that because Lachlan passed his driving test, we’ve been looking to get him a car. And in case you think this sounds all very fancy, I should let you know that we’re looking for something with wheels that was probably created around the same time Lachlan was. 1: Because cars are not cheap, and 2. Because trying to insure an 18-year-old first-time driver is kidney-sellingly expensive.

We’re not even particularly a car family, but LA is not like London or Glasgow. In LA, you have to have a car. There is some public transport, but it's patchy. So, though some journeys are easy, there are some journeys that would take 20 minutes in a car, and probably the same amount of hours by public transport - with the added bonus of possible sunstroke waiting for a bus.

When we first moved to LA, we’d lease cars - that way, we’d get something that didn't break down, and if it did, then it was someone else's job to fix it. Then, during the Pandemic, we were like, “What are we doing? We don’t need fancy new cars, as we’ll only spoil them.” So now we have two old clunkers that are all ours: Wallace, a daffy wee electric car for all things local, and Tony, a daft big Sienna we bought for about 5 cents from our friends Ches and Krissy when they moved back to the UK. And it's all worked perfectly.

But now with four drivers in the house, we need another car.

We’ve been looking on Facebook Marketplace. And I don't know if you know this, but people don't always tell the truth on social media.

So, I found one this week that seemed like it might work - a VW Golf convertible, with just over 100,000 miles, sold by a girl called Sierra. The car was 20 years old, and from her profile pic, Sierra didn't look much older. She said she was moving East to go to college, and so ‘selling her beloved car’. There were pictures of the car on the Pacific Coast highway at sunset, and parked up in Beverly Hills, where she had commented, “Living the dream!” Clearly, she was aiming to tap into the aspirational buyer, but as the price tag was only a couple of grand, she managed to tap into the completely un-aspirational Tweddle buyers too.

I passed the details on to Mark. Though he thought the car looked good, he was reluctant to message Sierra. (Mark doesn't like messaging girls on Facebook. Not since he messaged this young woman about a Ford Fiesta she was selling, and she messaged him back a picture of herself in a VERY small bikini. She was definitely selling a Fiesta, alright, but not in an automobile form.)

Anyway, after a bit of encouragement, he messaged Sierra and set up a viewing in West Hollywood. I agreed to go with him, figuring if she turned out to be selling something other than her car, I would be his protection. (I'm not big on fighting, but I can do judgy face and angry eyes with remarkable ease.)

The address she gave us turned out to be a big gated affair, in not at all the kind of street a 20-year-old VW would dare show its chassis.

When Mark messaged her to say we were outside, she responded explaining the car actually belonged to her boyfriend, Dan, and gave us his number. Mark looked at me questioningly, and I shrugged, so then he called the number, and Dan picked up. “Hey,” said Mark, “We’re here about the car. We’re outside the house.”

“Oh cool,” said Dan, “Be with you in 5.”

Maybe 10 minutes later, the VW appeared - not from the house, but from some other street. Clearly, this was not where Dan or Sierra lived. The street was an aspirational setting for our benefit, like the photo on Facebook Marketplace of the car at sunset on Pacific Coast Highway.

Dan was friendly in a cheeky chappy sort of way. He said he had to be 100% honest with us, and up front, wanted us to know he had two other buyers. He also said one of the buyers offered $250 more than the asking price but couldn't pay till next week, so the car was now $250 more than he’d listed it.

Neither of us reacted. Mark had his practical head on, focused only on looking over the car. And I had been completely distracted by Dan’s accent, which wavered between maybe Australian and a bit of Dutch.

“Where are you from?” I asked. “London,” Dan replied confidently. “Really?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise, “I could have sworn Australia. I must be losing my touch.”

“Yeah, well I've lived all over," Dan said, reddening a little.

“Actually we lived in London before we came here,” Mark said. “What part were you in?”

“All over.” Dan smiled. “So what do you want to know about the car?”

Noticing a cluster of worn patches on the upholstery, Mark asked if the roof had ever leaked, and Dan answered that he didn't think so, before adding, “Anyway, when does it ever rain in LA?” He said that he generally drove with the top down, “living the dream,” he added.

With the roof up, the car looked smaller - too small, probably for Lachlan, clocking in at a solid 6ft 1. Nevertheless, Mark and Dan agreed to go on a test drive, and I waited behind as there wasn't much room in the back seat.

I knew Lachlan would love the car, because what 18-year-old wouldn't like the idea of driving himself to school in a silver convertible? But I figured I'd leave the decision to Mark, who - despite his protestations- does actually understand how cars work, whereas my knowledge seems to peak at noticing what color they are.

When they returned, I wasn't sure where Mark stood on it, and Dan seemed kind of anxious. So, while Mark continued his vehicle inspection, I tried to lift the atmosphere by making conversation. I managed to get Dan to reveal -in his weird hybrid Australian accent - that he worked in some form of marketing (he wouldn’t be specific). He said he was selling the car because he was moving to the East Coast (but wouldn’t say if it was for work) and did a hard avoid when I tried to broach the topic of his girlfriend, Sierra, (who, after all, had gone to all that bother of listing his car on her Facebook page.)

Mark popped the hood and asked where the dipstick was. Dan was effusively pointing out that this model of VW didn't actually have a dipstick, just as Mark emerged from behind the hood with a dipstick in his hand.

It was a weird little moment, where it was clear as a bell he was lying. We knew it. He knew it. How much he was lying about was hard to know. So instead, we all just pretended everything was fine.

Dan then reminded us that he had two other buyers. Mark said if he were Dan, he’d take the other buyer’s offer, but to keep us posted if they fell through.

I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but we all shook hands and agreed it had been absolutely lovely to meet each other and headed off home. Dan was sitting in the driver's seat of the car as we drove past. Looking at him in the rear-view mirror, it was like the mask had come off. His expression was dark, bleak, hopeless.

“What was that about?” I asked Mark. “Are we buying the VW or not?”

“Not.” said Mark. “Not unless it's literally half the price. Then it might be worth taking the risk. But even then...”

“Is there something weird going on?” I asked.

“Well, I'm pretty sure Dan is not from London,” he said.

“Duh” I replied.

“Just as I am pretty sure Sierra does not exist at all.”

“What?” I said.

“Dan and Sierra are the same person,” he said

“How do you know?”

“I don’t for sure. But the way he talks is almost exactly the same way she writes, and did he ever mention her to you at all?”

“Nope. Wow,” I replied, the penny dropping.

“And you've got to figure that if someone has created a fake profile of a fake girlfriend to sell a 20-year-old car, then they've got bigger problems than the car.”

“Living the dream,” I said.

Driving home, I felt both incredibly sad for Dan and creeped out by him in equal measures. I thought of the expression on his face when we drove off and shivered. What was going on in that head?

By the time we got back home, Dan had messaged. He said he had loved meeting us. He said that if the buyer fell through, we could have the car at the original price, and he could drop it off for us. Mark texted back that we’d decided against it because Lachlan is so tall and the car would be too much of a squeeze.

It was both the truth and not the truth. I expect Dan knew it, because it’s a language he knows well, and he texted back, “Ok. cool.”

My life right now is cluttered with the unwanted details of mileage, and oil changes, and smog tests, and an 18-year-old boy who can’t wait to have full driving freedom. I resent waking up panicky at three in the morning and thinking stuff like, “But really, should we get a hybrid?”

But for Dan, the details cluttering up his life have to be much more tricky to handle. As must be the thoughts that wake him through the night. His living the dream seems like a bit of a nightmare to me.

I expect we shall never meet again. Dan will be wherever Dan will be, and here in Tweddley Manor we will Tweddle on to our next random challenge. And before too long, I will shake off my sadness for the life of some strange guy whose real face I saw briefly reflected back to me in a rear-view mirror as we drove by.

Reality is genuinely undervalued you know. And completely the opposite can be said of second-hand cars.

PS: Every time you click on the wee heart emoji on this post to like it, an unloved (and possibly unloveable clunker finds a home That’s a lie, obviously, but it does wonders for my algorithm, and I am incredibly grateful. xo

P. P. S: If you enjoy talking/listening/stories/ random facts, come and join me and Mr Tweddle tat Fish and Bear. This (and every) Wednesday, we will be at MacLeod’s in the Magical No-Kings-dom of Van Nuys.

ALSO - as from Tuesday 16th, we’ll be at Church of The Valley, 6565 Vesper 91411 every Tuesday, so you’ve no excuse :) xo