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.