Ever found yourself
on the runway of a developing nation’s airport about to repossess
some long-sought asset, only to be surrounded by a private militia
wielding former Soviet machine guns?

Perhaps you’ve turned
up at a premises in Middlesbrough to collect a car, only to be
threatened with grievous bodily harm by a former client turned
menacing Neanderthal.

Whatever your
Collection Nightmare we at Leasing Life are looking for the worst
repossession tales from anywhere in Europe for this diary page, so
get in touch if you have a horror story worth sharing, or perhaps a
leasing myth that you’ve heard.

We look forward to sharing your woes.

Collections Nightmares logoMichael
, partner with The Finance Partnership, takes to
the couch this month to expunge the horror that is vehicle
repossession in Harrogate.

Required to repossess a
Volkswagen Golf, things got off to bad start for Dempsey in the
picturesque North Yorkshire town.

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“The customer would not
let us anywhere near the car and was adamant we could not get it,”
he recalls with a defiant glint in his eye. “Luckily, the invoice
gave us the key number so we went to the nearest VW garage and had
a key cut.”

Having outwitted the
lessee at the first impasse, things quickly get harder for our

“We returned to the house
where the car was parked in the road and snuck up to the car and I
tried the door.

“With it being a new key
we struggled with the lock.”

Dempsey recalls with a
shiver how the customer, rather perturbed by developments, felt the
best response to the imminent repossession of his prized Golf would
be to come to the door armed with a mouthful of expletives and a
baseball bat.

It was a great relief to
our friend, therefore, when the lock budged and he was safely
nestled on the polyester upholstery.

It is surprising how
quickly relief dissolves into fear and a VW suddenly seems quite
flimsy protection when faced with an angry, club-wielding
Yorkshireman and a car that just won’t start.

Alas, the temperamental
new key proved once again a problem in the ignition.

With sweat-soaked palms
fumbling with the key, imagine our hero’s relief when the
thunderous cacophony of a fearful heartbeat resounding in his ear
was drowned out by the soft purr of a German combustion engine. The
car had started and he was away.

“I was still in first gear about 200 yards down the road,” he
says, visibly reliving the moment of his salvation.

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