The Start of the project.

This is the first few days of the project back in March 2006.

Arriving in France 2011

Cracks papered over?

“What do you think you are doing? This needs to be sorted, come back, straight away!” At least he’d got that bit right, this most definitely needed to be resolved. Opening the garage door I was again met with a torrent of abuse. “Nobody but nobody slams a door in my face, look, look I can quite easily drop this project, and I will if you are going to behave like that; and another thing, what was that snide comment you made in the Oak last night “the pen is mightier than the mouth”, they were all fuckin’ laughing at me when you had gone. I don’t expect a mate to stab me in the back like that with clever friggin’ remarks. You have the nerve to storm off just because I ask you to make another poxy list! What’s all that about!....….It is difficult, even in the best circumstances to discuss anything with Chris, he is not a listener. I did manage to mention that I had always been appreciative of his work but I felt that re-writing another fuckin’ list was yet another pointless exercise I had been asked to fulfil. I looked around the garage at the many ‘programmes of work’ I had needlessly produced, there to be totally ignored, the endless deadlines that had been grossly under estimated and the chaotic, muddled working conditions contradicted by empty promises of don’t worry, ‘things will be tidied up’. Was I in the right or in the wrong, a caring compassionate friend or a big soft ‘wuss’? I really did not know.

After I had apologised for my irrational behaviour a tense fragile calm prevailed from which I was dispatched to Brabbin and Rudd for the bolt that Colin wanted to finish the dry build of the handbrake mechanism. My other duties for the day were to collect the two engine panels from Catterall and Wood that had been dressed by Alan and, of course, draft another more specific, detailed order for Jigsaw Racing. I have had a personal character fault for as long as can remember to which Jo, over the years, has attempted to rectify, she has continually encouraged me to address this woeful trait. 

I have always thought I have shown tremendous loyalty but furthermore complete respect to true friends as well as pointedly avoiding the tossers  and wankers of this world. But when I feel let down even slightly betrayed by someone close my immediate reaction is to blank out the problem, to walk away, to regress into a mega-sulk, perversely yet inevitably choosing never to actually confront the problem. This was another example of such a circumstance. As the day wore on, either on the road or bashing the keys I could not rationalise the events of the morning. Conflicting thoughts rattled around my baffled, tormented mind manifesting themselves as either vacuous stares or fluctuating gloomy bleak moods. Were the cracks beginning to show, was the marriage over to be destined for the grabbing lawyers or sucking shrinks? Was the project doomed? Or was it because, as I have always been told in the past, that I am a temperamental, thin skinned, stubborn, bloody-minded, self centred Scorpio. Bollocks, I think not, but then I wouldn’t.        

Luckily the working day had improved every ones mood. The letters had been prepared and written for Rimmers, Chic Doig and Jigsaw, the panels collected from Alan, which were thankfully greeted with obvious delight  because they had been superbly crafted, Colin had created another piece of engineering magic by designing then building the handbrake mechanism, meanwhile Chris had built up the steering column and rack. Everyone in the team appeared very satisfied. Chris proudly showed me the work confessing begrudgingly that we should, never, never, ever, ever ‘fall out’ again. “Let’s draw a line under it, forget it and move on, I hate anything like this”. C’est moi aussi.

The first team was out in the Oak. David and Adele, Emma, Lowtie, Chris, Jimmy the Axe, Danny and Katie, Robert, Jamie and the girl with the big tits, Tim and Doctor Dave. The guest of honour had also arrived travelling up safely in a Virgin Express train from the ‘Smoke’. It was Knockers new chick, Nikki. Andy Lewis was also propping up the bar soaking up the gentle banter, cosy bon amie, chatting casually to both Mad John and Knocker. We were introduced to Nikki who was, as ‘Clubber’ had indicated, very talkative, having red ‘funky’ hair, a petite frame, face and feet; she worked for the immigration services in Weybridge. After careful observation I realised that Nikki, Knocker, Lewis and Mad John were edging toward the main group. It was clear that Knocker could now coolly deliver his trump card informing David that he would call around tomorrow to ensure the horses had been fed, that Chris had completed the service on his Merc, Tim had ‘made ready’ his boat, Doctor Dave had picked up his ‘whistle’ from the cleaners and it was of course ok for me to holiday in his house in Provence. Knocker had bagged a ‘bullshit full house’ in one fell swoop. 

The day has ended on a happier note than it had begun. I was completely over my sulk, which relieved Jo, but I had also surprised myself. Chris, thankfully, had significantly lowered his blood pressure, with the aid of six pints of ‘Stella’. I legitimately feel that this unsavoury passage is probably behind us.

The first day of stripping the Burlington

Fri.17.03.06. We have bravely committed to a second day of examination of the cars’ basic structural condition. It is St Patrick’s Day when traditionally anyone who has even the slightest whisper of a connection with the Emerald Isle has a strong obligation to throw a ‘sicky’, sing monotonous Irish ballads with the sole intention of getting momentously pissed. I wonder if this will be significant. The piercing wind unrelenting biting cold are still with us but at least today there is sufficient daylight so we can see what we are doing. The project is still in the balance because of the possibility of the warped tub. During the morning we pressed on with the removal of the wings and nose cone. I think Chris was very impressed with the huge range of nuts, bolts, screws and fasteners that I had used on the car. He was particularly astonished at their different sizes notably how appropriate they were for the job. But, because of their diversity as well as lacking the relevant ‘Imperial’ spanners in our extensive toolbox, we had to revert to the all-embracing applications of the angle grinder to remove many of the corroded nuts and bolts. I had made such an outstanding job of fixing the parts that it was often impossible to release them in the conventional manner. It was a successful day but still there remains the big question as to whether or not we should proceed. Even though there was much removed from the car we still couldn’t reposition the tub to make sure that there could be correct alignment. I am still quite depressed at the thought of abandoning the car, but the boss will have the last word, as such it will be the sensible decision.

In the Oak the celebrations for Patrick’s night were underway. I thought that the only place to steer clear of the dreadful Irish banging on about fucking convicts, potato famine, being screwed by the British and other crimes against those lovely, charming Irish gypos would be the Oak, but unfortunately not. Coinciding with our time of arrival of 6.05, Doctor Dave sparked up with the Rivers of Appin Rye from Galway Bay in 1842, in the key of Z, by 6.25 and 35 verses later he’d finished. Fuck me, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid. So much so that I stayed until 12.30am.

Midway through the evening Chris had subtly tapped up Dave Brown, who as well as being a fireman is an excellent carpenter, to fashion the dashboard of the car. This was forward planning at it’s best; we had not even determined whether or not the project would be ‘off the ground’ when he was blagging him into a meeting tomorrow to measure the prospective difficulties of turning a gearstick from a solid piece of mahogany. I have got to hand it Chris, he could probably also sell “how not to be a complete moronic twat” to Liam Gallagher subsequently converting him to Christianity.

Tomorrow is ‘D day’. It could be the budding prospect of creating a wonderful car or filling a skip full of rusty metal

Epitaph

                                       Burlington Diary February 2012

This could be the final piece of dialogue about The Burlington SS project that began way back in March 2006. Not the joyous conclusion I had wished for but a true end none the less. I am not completely free from blame. Re-visiting the same old ground I have eventually decided that my earlier compliance to every concept, routes travelled, time frames abandoned, deadlines never met plus the numerous occasions when I always ‘fell in line’ or just plain, ‘rolled over’, had contributed ultimately to the ‘messy divorce’. I allowed my personal parameters to be undermined too many times becoming the easy target, the whipping boy. A bully can smell weakness; repeated criticism becomes straightforward, effortless, developing into reinforced, established behaviour. Only realising these characteristics after the event is my excuse; the deep rooted resentment is as much my fault as his. I must, therefore, share the responsibility of this unacceptable, distasteful and uncomfortable conclusion.

Sun.19.02.12. I have kept my distance From Chris Ball for the past 6 months avoiding any possible contact in the Oak; Jo and I usually watch the bands on Sunday from the safety of the vault, it is the only time that we venture into the pub when he is present. But regrettably, there have been notable events in my private life that have taken priority over the ‘Ball’ saga. Dad has been discharged from the Stewart assessment centre on the 22^nd of October to be admitted to Broad Oak Manor nursing home. He remains there to this day despite being transferred with the sole purpose of spending his final few weeks receiving ‘palliative’ care. Sadly, Mum died quite suddenly on the 23^rd of January, I suspect that she had finally accepted that dad would not ever return home: she became depressed and possibly just gave up. After 2 weeks of illness, again with the stubborn refusal to receive professional care she was admitted to Whiston hospital where she died during the night due to the deep seated infection in her chest: ‘community pneumonia’ was the actual cause of death. The home visits earlier in the week from Dr. Russell along with the prescribed antibiotics had not done the trick. She did in fact have her final wish, she would never ‘go into care’, neither would she ever accept any external support; these two factors eventually became her undoing. I found it very difficult to grieve openly at the funeral apart from empathising with dad who had assimilated his wife’s demise responding appropriately at the service. The intention in the future is to have a joint ‘celebration’ when Dad’s situation is resolved; a proper send off. Until then we mark time. We visit Dad every day, he seems strong but his mental state fluctuates, he also appears very frail.

Mike has been over for the funeral and offered some sound advice regarding the irretrievable situation that exists between Chris and I. He feels strongly that the conflicting interpretation of the major issues continued for far too long, deep seated bitterness and resentment had set in becoming entrenched, embellished and reinforced by the passing of time. The verbal and physical attack on the 23^rd July 2011 was the result of this festering resentment that had been ‘slowly cooked up’ over the previous 18 months. There was absolutely zero rational supporting the ‘claimed’ elementary facts. There had been exaggerated, fictitious statements, incorrect time frames, procedural decisions untruthfully exclaimed as well as the complete misinterpretation of the real events. Mike had had a similar situation during his early years in business, where he allowed a problem to rankle only confronting the major concerns when it was too late. His interpretation of events had become warped, his understanding of the personal problems misjudged. He harboured bitterness for many years afterwards in an attempt to make sense of what had happened; he chewed over the conflicting facts, procedures and outcomes. In his mind he could not resolve the ‘event’ at all until he was faced with the comparable problem that he vowed to address immediately; it was only then that he could enjoy total closure from the primary problem. The moral of the story is that, no matter what I do or say Chris will always harbour anger and resentment over the affair; it may be manifested in another guise but the indisputable obstruction will always be the ‘Burlington’. I have therefore decided to have no contact whatsoever with Chris. Nothing will satisfy his acrimonious animosity towards myself. He will never be convinced, persuaded or proven to be in any way responsible for this dreadful state of affairs.

Yet, on Sunday whilst leaving the pub he had another snipe; in typically sneaky fashion; after a smiling greeting to Jo he turned to me ‘slyly whispering’ that ‘manners cost nothing’, and with that left the pub. I have now a greater understanding of Mike’s advice. This problem will not go away. I still feel that complete non contact is the only remedy: but again, I feel that this will not be enough for Chris Ball.

Although the project is concluded I plan to take the Burlington on many continental trips over the next few years. I shall endeavour to be informative, intuitive and most of all content. I shall post as blogs when I have sufficient material: please keep in touch.
Many thanks for following my story; I hope you have enjoyed the journey as much as myself.