They also reminded me that this weekend is the “National Kit Car Show” at Stoneleigh in Warwickshire. The last time I was there, in 1981, my Burlington SS had not even been trimmed, but nonetheless I proudly swanked onto the showground expecting heads to turn, this being ‘001’: typically, none did, bummer. But, unsurprisingly the show remained awash with cobbled up aspirants, unexpectedly fewer concourse cars, freshly groomed sales people without beards but sporting moustaches dressed in chino’s, company ties, blazers with badges, passing around finely produced, boasting catalogues, 100 autojumbles with new and old boxed parts, power and hand tools capable of almost everything, ‘demos’, trials, side shows, country music, burgers and chips. In a nutshell, each and every item that one needs to build their own dream. Chris and I plan a trip down on Sunday to buy thousands of pounds worth of the best gear, but the wings needed finishing so we pressed on.
Mad John, who had been recruited by Chris, was in the Garden trying to rescue some dead plants that David had freely given to Chris last year. I would guess that it was one those crazy drunken bets that often emanate in the Oak after a gallon of Stella probably punctuated by an outrageous claim ‘to revive the decaying foliage where the professionals had failed’. Chris has an obdurate determination to prove the world wrong claiming to be able to achieve the impossible where other lesser beings have disappointed. This futile exercise being a clear example. He desperately needed the advice of ‘green fingered John’ to save some face and plants. By the end of the day John’s prognosis was optimistic. We all met later in the Oak to exchange notes, oily rag versus perennials.
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