Took my 64 plate Santa Fe to my mechanic—someone I trust completely. He’s been working on my family’s cars for years, always after his regular work hours.
Took it in to get the rear brake pads replaced, and while he was under there, he called me up:
“Your discs are almost shot, want me to replace them?” (Sent me photos to prove it.)
I let out some choice words (let’s just say it started with “for” and ended with “sake”) and told him to go ahead.
An hour later, another call…
Mechanic: “Good news and bad news.”
Me: “Go on…”
Mechanic: “Got past the electronic parking brake.”
Me: “Okayyy…”
Mechanic: “Got your calipers off. Was a fight, but they’re off.”
Me: “Oh good. What’s the bad news?”
Mechanic: “The calipers are knackered. Pistons are corroded.”
Me:Eurgh. (Again, not my exact words.)
Mechanic: “I can bodge it to get it through MOT, or I can keep it a night or two and replace them properly.”
Me: “Just replace them. They need doing.”
Mechanic: “Want me to call you if I find anything else?”
Me: “Absolutely not!”
Just thought I’d share my latest round of car-related misery.