They are the cars you see everywhere, or at least, everywhere I go. A perfectly normal mini lies beneath a coat of paint that marks the driver out as a complete cock, a complete cock who works for a company of complete cocks.
The foxton’s mobiles are like bacteria floating around in the arteries that are London’s roads, and they are a sight that are just as welcome. They pootle around screaming ‘My occupant is an estate agent, and what’s more, he doesn’t mind you knowing, doesn’t that just make him the biggest cock you’ve ever seen?’. I mean no-one really likes estate agents, they are kind of necessary, but dislikable all the same, what’s more Foxton’s have had some rather well publicised bad practices, so why would someone allow their company car to mark themselves out as a dislikable prick working for a company that, in business terms, force feeds small children in order to make a human foie gras from their livers.
It’s even worse that the cars have been decorated in a way that is as awful as it is, painted up as some sad case directors vision of horse racing colours. Yup, thats right, the man in charge of Foxton’s corporate image thinks that Horse Racing, the so called sport of Kings, is an ideal marriage for the image of the company. Let’s think about this, a so called sport where very rich people use expensive things (the horses) to trick the poor (the betting public) into parting with their money. Hold on, wait a minute, isn’t that just what Foxtons do with their customers? Offering them more than they can actually produce in order to part them from their cash? Why, I think it is!
The cars are ugly, with a stupid name printed on the back, spoiling what is quite a nice car. It’s like painting a dilating anus with a turd dangling from the sphincter on the bonnet of your ferrari. They are driven by fools who have the idea that working for Foxtons is a good thing and don’t mind shouting about it. It’s all quite nasty really.