Sat.29.04.06. The true extent of the laptop catastrophe dawned the following morning after visiting several computer repair shops. Everyone declared the very same solution, “It costs £500 for a new screen and it must be bought from Acer”, and then there’s the fitting charge, you might as well buy a new one, end of”. I returned with the bad news. Gloom had settled over the house. Even worse, I had to watch Chelsea batter United to secure the Premiership for another year. Murinho stood smugly smiling for the Sky cameras. “Of course the best team won, every team needs to raise their standards if they want to compete against us, but I doubt that they can”, boasted the arrogant, egotistical, self-important, special one: the bastard.
Before I drove up to Westmead I searched for Jo’s digital camera, to record the day’s activities, but could not find it anywhere. This instrument has become a vital element of the build. During the first build I did value photographic evidence, identifying of procedure and progress, but the limitations of processing was such that to bang off endless images would have been financially prohibitive. Unlike the technology of today where even the smallest feature can be recorded, edited, catalogued or discarded. So much so, I have already accumulated hundreds of pretty useless shots stored on a disc that fits in my pocket. When I look back on the build I should be able to present a complete illustrated calendar of the project along with this equally useless text. The thought of leaving it in the ‘Discovery’, (my present company vehicle) to be stolen by some local Chav, began to fill my thoughts. Another, major disaster could be looming on the horizon. I sped up to Standish thankfully finding the camera behind one of many toolboxes.
We re-fitted the wings, again, did some more filling and rubbing, went over the details of Stoneleigh then drove down to the Oak in an open top Saab. This was to be mine and Jo’s vehicle for the day at the National Kitcar rally. I also met Margaret and Tim who asked about the progress of the re-build. Tim is a fellow musician but has, foolishly devoted his entire life singing monotonous Irish shite, Margaret, on the other hand is the commercial manager for the Post and Chronicle, so having heard about our intention to repeat the run has pledged support from the paper. I offered my account of the 1981 run as an appetiser, but she didn’t seem that impressed. I still managed to force the document into her hand, giving her little choice but to promise to pass it on, next week, to some hack who works in her office.
This has been a bad day at Black Rock.
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