
We are not a group, we are not a franchise, and there is nobody upstairs setting us monthly targets. There is a yard, a workshop, a kettle and a dog.
Marianne Wren spent eleven years selling cars for somebody else, most of it being told to push finance at people who had walked in with cash. In 2006 she'd had enough of it, rented a lock-up off the Derby road with her redundancy money, and put six cars on the forecourt.
Tom Barrow was the mechanic she rang when something needed doing properly. By the second winter he was there more days than not, so in 2009 they stopped pretending and put his name on the sign. He still does most of the spannering, and he still won't let a car go out front until he's happy with it, which costs us money roughly once a fortnight.
We moved to Sturston Yard in 2011 — the old creamery yard, behind the hedge, five minutes out of town. It's not a location that gets passing trade, which is the point. People come because somebody told them to.
Twenty years on, we sell about eleven cars a month. That number hasn't really changed since 2014 and we're not trying to change it.

None of this is a moral position, particularly. It's just that we live here, our children went to school here, and it is a small town.
Buys the cars
Derby and Nottingham auctions most weeks, and a very good memory for which cars were a mistake last time. If you want to know what something is really like to live with, ask her.
Workshop
Thirty-one years a mechanic, twelve of them here. Will happily explain what he's found and why it matters, at length, whether or not you asked.
Handovers and paperwork
Joined in 2016 and quietly runs the place. Does the three-day agreements, the V5s, the warranty claims, and the calendar that stops us double-booking a car.
There is also Dougie, a lurcher of uncertain parentage, who sleeps in the office doorway and must be stepped over. He is not for sale, though he has been asked after twice.