Ezybook.co.uk are quick to take your money and car keys, but also your time, holiday calmness and soul when ‘delivering’ your car back upon return. The story begins with the ‘greet’. Upon being directed to what felt like the 300th floor of a Gatwick airport car park, we were able to identify the valet service person. Wearing close to sweet FA by way of uniform and providing little assurance other than a receipt, we parted ways with our car. Who knows if we were to ever see it again. Fast forward a few days, and feeling refreshed after a few large beers and a cheeseboard of 2, we landed at Gatwick North terminal. Let the chaos begin!!! The instructions were to phone a mobile number to request your car back to the drop off / pick up point. The number took an eternity to actually reach the company, using the term company about as generously as it gets. I’m not sure who answered the phone, I didn’t get his name, and I’m not sure he’d even know it anyway. The guy sounded like he’d smoke a herb or two. There was screaming and shouting in the background like a 1980’s football derby. The guy struggled to take note of a number plate and vehicle type. Critical Information for a car valet service you’d think. We were told numerous times of car was ‘on its way’ only for 30 mins to pass and no sign of our beloved chariot to take us home. Fast forward a number of hours, possibly days or weeks… and there was still no sign of the car. Panic ensued as other customers were finding bits of their cars in the car park, damaged with keys left on wheels and no valet service in sight. It was at this stage we wondered if we’d ever get home. Phone calls were made to loved ones, we feared the worst, would we ever see them again?! Numerous further phone calls to the zero-helpline and our ‘friend’ who somehow become ever more rude than he started, lead us on a merry game of where’s my car. Thankfully we’d all watched “Dude where’s my car” and spirits to find our wagon remained high. Like a pack of ravished hyenas we searched for what we so desperately needed, not a fallen wilder-beast, but salvation on wheels. After a train ride, a few threats of calling the police, we finally found the unfindable, not £5 pints in London, but our ride home, unlocked with the keys hidden on the wheel, and a sign saying drop to the north terminal, exactly where we was waiting. The mother-fudgers!!! The car was parked across two spaces sideways, covered in mud and absolutely stank of brute aftershave - the sort your creepy long lost relative wears. I can’t begin to imagine what these scammers had used the car for, and maybe I don’t want to know. After a stop to refuel on the way home we finally arrived 5 hours after our ordeal began. Ezybook - more like a shambles. I’d rather dangle my genitalia in a bear trap than use these muppets again!