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

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

Whatever your Collection Nightmare we at
Leasing Life are looking for the worst repossession tales from
anywhere in Europe, 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.

This month, Gordon McArthur of Anglo Scottish
Asset Finance Limited holds the torch under his chin as Leasing
Life huddles around the campfire to listen.

His tale starts like many a repossession
horror story – innocently enough.

“Working as a trainee rep, for a Scottish
bank-owned finance house, I went out with my manager to do an
arrears call on a consumer client who had a hire purchase agreement
on a Lada car,” says McArthur.

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Hints of doom were apparent from the start.
“God knows how,” says McArthur, staring darkly into the flickering
flames of the campfire, “since it was against company policy to
finance Ladas at the time.”

Classic foreshadowing.

“We arrive at the client’s house and my
manager instructs me to tell the client that we have had enough and
that we are just here to take away the car.”

Eager to impress McArthur bounds innocently up
to the door. 

“A man answers and I tell him where I am from
and that I am there to take away the car.

“He says, ‘No problem, just let me get the
keys.’ While he is away I turn and give the thumbs up to my boss,
and think to myself that this repossession malarkey is easy.”

Woe betide any man who claims victory before
the battle is ended.

“The guy comes back with the keys and hands
them to me. I ask him to sign the voluntary release form so nobody
will think we just stole it off his driveway and off we go.”

Creeping out of the housing estate at the
steady pace one came to expect from Soviet-era Russian engineering,
McArthur’s eye was drawn by a man shouting frantically as he
bounded up to the driver’s window.

“I wind the window down and ask what the
problem is and he shouts I am stealing his car and would someone
phone the police,” recalls McArthur. “I explain that the car
belongs to Mr X down the road, at which point he says he is Mr

As any professional would be wise to do when
in possession of a car and being chased by a pedestrian, McArthur
put pedal to metal and lived to tell the tale.

“I told him to phone the office to sort it out
and drove off. Turns out the man at the house was the client’s
brother and he thought we were the garage coming to collect his car
to take it for a service.”