Fri.28.04.06. Colin was already at Westmead when I arrived to continue rubbing down the tub and panels. He was there purely in an advisory capacity to discuss the feasibility of a full, hinged aluminium bonnet. Possible, but far too expensive was the conclusion so we are back to the initial idea of hidden seams. During the day Chris and I fitted, to then remove the wings, striving to achieve perfection. I continue to be amazed as to how much work goes into the placement of panels and their relationship with the body tub, scuttle and bonnet, but each day after every re-fitting displays another minute but important improvement.
Later in the day we began to make a shopping list for Stoneleigh. As well as buying components I have been commissioned to photograph particular models that have accomplished a successful attempt at bonnet design, windscreens fitting and appropriate interiors, along side the ones who have made a pig’s ear of it. It is equally important to jettison the shite but embrace good manure.
Down at the Oak, the Doc cornered Jo and I enthusing about the Beaujolais run. “Let’s get Winston and JJB to sponsor the event, Tesco, the Post and Chron, my wine supplier. You’ll see, mark my words, every fucker will crawl out of the woodwork to get a piece of it, I’ll brew a special beer called Beerjolais, serve up produce from all over Burgundy, the trip will finish up paying for itself,” he effusively, pertinently and relevantly claimed. Luckily we met Dave Green and Julie craftily escaping the excitable ramblings of Doc. After half a gallon we left him trapping sleeping Mad John in a corner drunkenly enlarging the importance of the ‘run’. We then decided to invite Dave and Julie back to the house for more drinks. The dining room was in its’ usual untidy state so removing my paper work, letters, bills and car magazines was essential in order to find places four wine glasses and allow people to sit down. Then disaster struck, I went to pick up Jo’s laptop from the seat of my chair when it slid, slowly out of the protective case and onto the wooden floor.
Opening and booting the machine confirmed that the screen was broken but not the hard drive, all that I could think of was the possibility or not of retrieving my scribblings and photos. I immediately began to grovel pouring out endless apologies and explanations as to how this dreadful accident had occurred. We settled, opened a bottle of wine and talked football and music for the rest of the night.
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