Where there is blame there's a claim

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After another very productive day we sloped down to the Oak to quench our thirst aiming to flush out the noxious fumes of resin, the fine carcinogenic dust particles of ‘tete’ dust plus a cocktail of paint stripper together with concentrated paint thinners. I thought at one point he was hallucinating, enjoying an out of body moment together with temporary body and mind shutdown. 

This condition is a phenomenon practised by “Mad John” who regularly induces this trance-like state when he doesn’t want to communicate with anyone in the Oak. J..............., known as “Mad John”, is a prematurely retired solicitor. He left the profession very disheartened by an act of Government legislation that withdrew all of the funding for legal aid. The consequences of the bill were to effectively exclude the common man from free legal advice. Worst still it encouraged a multitude of solicitors to chase the unscrupulous, dubious rewards of , “If there is Blame there is a Claim” society which was constantly sought  by the many fakers claiming injury at work or a broken leg from tripping over council laid paving flags. John became a very disturbed, depressed man whose only solace is Bolton Wanderers, plants and reciting, in perfect order, the railway stations between Wigan and Southport. After a number of years he finally managed to access his pension along with confirmation that he was genuinely mad. He celebrated his new status by enjoying a sumptuous meal, with friends at the Oak. He, however, still occasionally suffers from partial ‘body and mind shut down’ which is an unfortunate side affect from his self-induced madness.

Chris, throughout the evening, remained very subdued for quite a while, obviously still tormented from toxic poisoning. Even when the Doc produced a huge cured ham, which had been brought back form Seville by Doctor Dave, there was still negligible interest expressed by Chris. Doctor Dave had also returned from the local French market in Wigan where he had excitedly purchased several French country cheeses along with half a dozen sticks of bread to accompany his “Hamon Seville”. This very generous gesture is really quite common in the Oak; it is usually linked to travels or holidays by the people in the vault. Exotic foods from all over the world arrive at the pub on a regular basis. Jerk beef, smoked eels, Scottish wild salmon and lobster, magret de canard, bottled rattle snake, curried squirrel and even a complete red deer.

 After a few nibbles of ham and cheese Chris was revived becoming totally involved the evening, passionately celebrating the progress of the Burlington.

 We have had another day finishing the wings preparing them for Gordon, the best painter in the world, who is willing to slowly work on the parts in his down time so that his ‘subsequent wedge’ will be vastly reduced. Appreciatively, I picked up another great tip from Chris today on how to repair damaged areas on the wings: namely, a cute method of mending a broken section of fibreglass by using polythene as a makeshift mould. The semi-liquid resin compound is smeared onto a piece of polythene (plastic) sheet and folded over the damaged area, squeezed into place to form the perfect mould. This then is allowed to harden off, the plastic peeled off and the repaired area finished by filing and sanding to blend it into the exact shape. Voila.

'Psycho or Davina' take your pick

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We returned to the Oak in the evening for liquid refreshment but mainly to promote the rebuild via a slide show in the Roy Castle corner. “Psycho”, real name Colin, suitably named because of his unpredictable violent behaviour, has volunteered his services to the cause. He was very impressed with the location shots and clarity of the images, but, unfortunately, he doesn’t know his ‘bell housing’ from his ‘lower trunnion bush’. We have decided that his involvement with the project should be minimal, possibly, the removal of rust from the prop shaft. Even he can’t make a balls of that. 

I sensed, however, that everyone else was fast becoming bored with “Tales of the Burlington”. Faces turned to the bar, comments such as, ‘oh not again’ could be heard across the room; sadly, even our closest supporters, even some very close friends were beginning to talk to total strangers avoiding any verbal exchange with us due to the certainty of being bored shitless, experiencing death by ‘oily rag’.

We are in danger, like Davina McCall, of being over exposed; we too could run the risk of being rapidly as well as intensely despised by the paying public.

Nevertheless, it has been another very enjoyable day. 

Meet the Fockers

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Mon.27.03.06. I returned from the gym around 11.00am to find messages on my phone from Chris. At least he is still alive. Thankfully, the events on Saturday evening had been resolved by Sunday afternoon; the apparent terminal injuries of the 820 CSi. ultimately proved to be false. Danny had given Chris a lift home on Saturday evening via Chorley, which meant that he could thrash the car along the quiet local country roads. The vehicle performed impeccably demonstrating an exhilarating turn of speed indicating that it can actually catch pigeons. Excellent news as it turned out, with Danny, Katie, his newly married wife together with other assorted saltettes (these being the offspring of Captain Salty, Philip Santus, our local Laird) arriving later in the afternoon to the Oak in the vehicle, showing off their new trophy. The Oak suddenly emptied as the entourage left for the Captain’s late lunch: all the remaining commoners following outside to witness the speed of the BMW as it roared up Standishgate to the cheers of the growing crowd. Now, that is what I call a result. 

Slick has been grovelling on the phone begging for the return of the car transporter promising liberal access to the facilities of his shambolic service and repair garage, in exchange for the use of the vehicle. I rushed to Coppull to pick him up. He repeated that we could store the rolling chassis, strip off the rest of the parts, he would personally take out the engine and box, have all the ancillary parts galvanised and, finally, when it is convenient for us, we could benefit from a complete afternoon enjoying robust sex with Kath, his foul mouthed, butch, Amazon-like girlfriend. I just can’t wait.
As I waved him farewell at David’s’ I couldn’t help but feel that his sole aim was simply to retrieve the transporter, which was invaluable to his business, at his earliest opportunity the chassis would finish up in a skip, complete with engine and box, having sold my lovely Cobra wheels on E’Bay. Chris didn’t share my misgivings over the sudden generosity of Slick, but I hope that I will be proved wrong. If I am, I promise to buy all the drinks for Salty in the Oak on Sunday afternoon.

We have had another very productive day, stripping the paint from the rear wings and bonnet. I suspect that we both feel a sense of genuine satisfaction. The project has received another boost.

Moving the project to Westmead

The car is ready to be moved, hopefully to Chris’s garage, the tub can be transferred to my lock-up to be stripped and tidied, but the real  positive bonus are the ideas that have emerged regarding the attachment of the screen to the scuttle.                      

Chris has also sold a huge, very special BMW 820 CSi to Danny Brennan that up until recently had been occupying his garage. This, obviously, now means that his garage is free so we can begin serious work on the new chassis.

But, bummer! just as we thought we had gained an excellent workshop space Danny arrived at the Oak to return the BMW, claiming that it was a shed. Chris had not had the most relaxing social evening up until then for several reasons, namely, our usual ‘Roy Castle’ corner (called by this name because of the smokers that inhabit the space) had been invaded by a rival team, comprising of loud, overweight, tattooed drinkers making the small space over crowded, unbearably noisy. The risk of a turf war was a distinct possibility. “Brown” had pitched up (this person is an irritating, pestering fool who on a previous occasion was locked in a cupboard by John Lowton for excessive mythering), along with the Landlord, Jimmy the Axe and Carlos who were all ‘pertinent and relevant’. They had spent the entire afternoon at the Wigan Beer Festival; as a consequence they were talking in tongues.

 Finally, Doctor Dave joined the group waxing lyrical about a recent visit to Seville with his estranged wife Julie. He claimed that they got on really well throughout the whole trip. This was entirely due to the fact that she usually passed out before 9.30pm, having enjoyed the liquid delights of the city for the best part of the day. This assured the prospect of midnight fights were very remote. The Oak resembled a zoo. So, the evening for Chris, amidst all of this mayhem was bad enough, but when Danny had wanted to return the car he became almost suicidal deciding to leave prematurely under a dark cloud of doom.

I am dreading phoning Chris in the morning, he may have taken his own life.

Bits and more bits

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I am at present in France working in my garden as well as painting very bad landscapes, so, I am unable to post blogs on a daily basis but I shall do my best. A bientot.

Directly, we began to hatch a plan as to where we could now store the parts that we had intended leaving on the truck. My simple solution of just lifting out the engine, ancillary parts and gearbox did not go down to well. Chris insisted, correctly, that we must carefully extract and label all the nuts and bolts, whether we need them or not. We spent the rest of the afternoon getting piss wet through constantly debating how many of the components should be saved and religiously catalogued before they could be stored. By 5.30 exhausted, Chris phoned Slick to inform him that the transporter was now available and that we had successfully managed to raise the engine and box.

 Slick then informed us that he did not need the vehicle after all. The only reason that we were up the fields getting drenched, feeling every ache and pain was because Slick wanted the transporter by 6.00pm. We had not a clue at the time, but this incident would be the first step of a very steep learning curve.

Neither of us now could think straight; all that remained of the long day was to pack up the tools and re-group. There were only two positives to savour from the day, one was that we were fast coming round to the fact that we need to replace many more components on the car than we had first thought and secondly, that we are closer to moving all the crap from David’s farm.

I retired to a warm bath, something that I have not experienced for about five years, and Chris, after cleaning himself up, reluctantly caught public transport to the Oak for a well earned drink. He really does enjoy the banter with his fellow passengers as they are all witty, articulate, polite and well groomed. I am sure that he will have arrived at the pub with uplifted spirits. 

France

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The weather here is superb, the wine excellent. 

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Directly, we began to hatch a plan as to where we could now store the parts that we had intended leaving on the truck. My simple solution of just lifting out the engine, ancillary parts and gearbox did not go down to well. Chris insisted, correctly, that we must carefully extract and label all the nuts and bolts, whether we need them or not. We spent the rest of the afternoon getting piss wet through constantly debating how many of the components should be saved and religiously catalogued before they could be stored. By 5.30 exhausted, Chris phoned Slick to inform him that the transporter was now available and that we had successfully managed to raise the engine and box. Slick then informed us that he did not need the vehicle after all. The only reason that we were up the fields getting drenched, feeling every ache and pain was because Slick wanted the transporter by 6.00pm. We had not a clue at the time, but this incident would be the first step of a very steep learning curve.

Neither of us now could think straight; all that remained of the long day was to pack up the tools and re-group. There were only two positives to savour from the day, one was that we were fast coming round to the fact that we need to replace many more components on the car than we had first thought and secondly, that we are closer to moving all the crap from David’s farm.

I retired to a warm bath, something that I have not experienced for about five years, and Chris, after cleaning himself up, reluctantly caught public transport to the Oak for a well earned drink. He really does enjoy the banter with his fellow passengers as they are all witty, articulate, polite and well groomed. I am sure that he will have arrived at the pub with uplifted spirits. 

Gathering up the scrap

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Fri.24.03.06. It has been raining all day but there was a pressing obligation to move all the semi-useless bits that are lying around David and Adele’s’ farm. I think that we have outstayed our welcome, what once were signs of irritation are developing into indisputable requests of eviction. But the transporter that has recently acted as the home for the rolling chassis and where we planned to load all the debris caused by the ‘strip’, had been requested frantically by ‘Slick’ (yet another, out of the ordinary, friends and motor trade colleagues of Chris). 

He had made this desperate request because he had a serious problem with a broken down vehicle that must be moved by 6.00pm. Our promises to David had rapidly evaporated.  

Haydn Davies engineer

Search Amazon.com for Classic car buildEarlier in the week I had been persuaded to rustle up ‘interest’ by contacting all the relevant bodies, past and present. Haydn Davies has replied to my e’mail guaranteeing a free Burlington badge: considering that we are actually rescuing 001 from the ashes this is a admirable gesture. I have also included Graeme Payne, who is the present secretary of the ‘Burlington Owners Club’. I intend sending him progress notes and photographs.

I have felt tremendously encouraged today and feel more confident that the car will be finished in time for the next Beaujolais run, in the hope that we can re-enact the fun of 25 years ago.

Positive progress

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Thurs.23.03.06. David is desperate for us to re-locate the tub as it is fouling his stables. We plan to move it, after Mothers day, down to Marylebone, when things will be more relaxed. I only finished my flower run at 1.00pm having clocked on at 5.00am, so I am a bit shagged out. I am not looking forward to messing with toxic, eye watering solvent in a confined airless space.

Chris and I have had a couple of hours in the cellar figuring out how the scuttle could have comfortably matched the bonnet, since both contours appear slightly incompatible. Studying original photographs as well as scratching away at the filler did not help the cause; this is another aspect of the project that continues to be addition piece of the puzzle. More urgently, we discussed David’s inquiries from the night before jointly deciding that we must shift the tub, tout suite, strip down the remaining rolling chassis, all before the weekend. But most significantly Chris has promised to host the new chassis, when eventually sourced, in his huge, double, fuck off garage. “It will be much easier to rebuild the car where we have space to work; it will only be for a few months anyway”. This kind offer was delivered somewhat nonchalantly but nevertheless it was immensely appreciated. 

The debate begins fuelled by beer

Search Amazon.com for flower arrangingWeds.22.03.06. I have been on the ‘flowers’, a semi semi part time voluntary piece of work helping out at buster times such as ‘Mothers day’: this is a driving job to fill the endless time on my hands since my premature retirement. I completed my usual trip to Garstang experiencing lovely weather returning back to the market at 10.00am. Once at home I filled the rest of my morning with some household chores, as well as mind numbing yet peaceful ironing. It’s no wonder I am searching for a greater personal challenge, something more suited to a ‘bloke’.

I have started to clean the scuttle, ignoring professional advice still using ‘Nitro’, but I suspect that I have gone through to the gel coat. I trust it can be repaired. I have spoken to Richard again confirming that he does have all the right stuff at the right price. Chris has worked on the nose cone in an attempt to straighten it up; with great results. 

The debate about sourcing the parts linked to a feasible programme of work continued later in the Oak. I am not sure that Chris is thinking straight, butterflying from approach to another. He is really suffering with neck ache, which has now travelled down his arm creeping into his hand. He resembles a man wearing tight shoes the unremitting grip reflected in his pinched face. He also mentioned his eyes had been pierced by red hot rusty needles and that his head was banging like a tin drum. Oh dear.