I had reason to commute into London the other day. My local routes are served by three varieties of train, long distances are taken care of by rakes of coaches towed by electric locomotives, and fast commuter journeys are handled by recently-introduced Siemens electric multiple units. This leaves the high-density, multiple-stop schedule to be filled by the oldest of our rolling stock.
These trains, the 100mph Class 321 electric multiple units, were built from 1989 to 1992 and have been extremely successful, though they are now getting on a bit. Over their long careers they have seen various efforts at refurbishment, and some units are now being rebuilt with air-conditioning and better facilities. The example I travelled in on Tuesday night had obviously experienced a ‘refurbishment’ of sorts, and I was flabbergasted at the sheer magnificence of its ineptitude.
It got me to thinking about the few times I’ve witnessed cars that display shows of owner complacency of this magnitude.


Having commuted solely for an evening of corporate-sponsored heavy drinking, I had need to visit the bathroom on my journey home. When I ventured inside the clean, white cubicle I noticed nothing out of the ordinary at first, then I became aware that the finish on the wall I was staring at wasn’t the smooth melamine I was expecting. There were brush strokes where paint had been applied, none too carefully, and as I explored further I became gradually aware of just how painstaking the refurbishment process had been. Or not.
I quickly noticed that nothing had been masked off when the painter set to work, there were splashes and runs everywhere and no evidence of any care being taken at any point of the process.
Then I went to wash and dry my hands.

At this point I collapsed into fits of barely controllable laughter. The electric hand drier had been painted, completely, with the same degree of gay abandon as the rest of the cubicle, with any warnings, instructions or branding forever obscured beneath a thick application of uneven emulsion. The directional nozzle was all-but jammed by paint which had accumulated in the mechanism, and I was incredibly surprised that the touch-sensitive ‘on’ button still worked.
This, it transpires, is a ‘refurbishment’. Either that or the most rational graffiti job I’ve ever seen.
I mention it here because it reminds me of a Ford Escort that came in for MOT while I worked at a Ford dealership briefly as a teenager. Its elderly owner had rattle-canned the front and rear wings and wheelarches, with no masking whatsoever and serious overspray on the tyres and trims, almost obscuring the indicator lamps in the process, though the paint was at least a good colour match for the original. Alas, his efforts were in vain as there was terminal corrosion along the chassis rails – which he argued about citing his previous history and expertise as a welder.
His motor-vehicle maintenance skills weren’t so hot, though, and we laughed to find his Blaupunkt cassette player installed upside down.
What’s the most appalling example of contemptible refurbishment you’ve ever encountered?
(Images copyright Chris Haining / Hooniverse 2016, taken in an actual train which carries actual people to London every day)