Mission impossible

Not fit for purpose

Anything that can be salvaged will be, but rescue will be difficult.



It has been another hot day and again working outside has been a pleasure. The front suspension, engine, gearbox and anti-roll bar have all been removed.Search Amazon.com for Not much to save here

Not much to save here

Or here

Salvaging the parts.

Thurs.11.05.06. It has been another hot day and again working outside has been a pleasure. The front suspension, engine, gearbox and anti-roll bar have all been removed. We left Slick’s at 6.00pm with only a few tough bolts to burn or chisel off to complete the slaughter of the chassis. The most disappointing discovery today was the condition of the engine. Water was swilling about in the first two and last push rod ports.

This would, ominously, indicate that the block had cracked which then in turn would necessitate a new engine.

The pistons were badly carbonised showing solid rusty deposits on the facing edge. Chris felt that the re-build of the engine in 1981 had been engineered by Bodget and Scarpa the notoriously bad mechanics of Wingates, Westhoughton. Gasket gue had been used very liberally and a curious mixture of nuts and bolts held the block to the cylinder head.

A pressure test on the block would give us some answers but there needs to be a great deal of serious thinking as to whether or not we should opt for a new engine. The gearbox seems to be okay but again this was re-built by the same ‘cowboys’ who were responsible for the engine. Many of the ancillary components need to be replaced, water pump, distributor, coil, starter solenoid, control box, regulator, dynamo, starter motor and rocker box cover.

I feel sure that there will be many more items that will creep onto the list before the job is finished. However, every new component that is added does enhance the quality of the vehicle. Expense is not an issue. 

Many of the components are beyond hope but it may be wise to rescue as many as possible rather than purchase reconditioned units.

The condition of the chassis is appalling but quite understandable

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Stitched up by the local rag

Weds.10.05.06. It was quite late in the afternoon by the time we arrived at Slicks’ to begin stripping the chassis of any salvageable parts. The rusting twisted metal was reluctant to offer anything easily. Today has been a really hot day and working out in the open air, away from the tete dust, was exceptional.

 Most of the nuts and bolts that held the ancillary components were badly rusted but with WD 40 together with a few old tricks from Chris’s repertoire we managed to successfully remove the rear suspension in addition to the front wheel hubs by 6 pm. We packed up the tools, returning the parts that we could rescue back to Westmead.

Leaving the car at home we were met by Jo who greeted us with a copy of the Evening Post, which carried the story of the Beaujolais Run. Mildred, our next door neighbour had given the paper to Jo with comment “It’s not a very good photo of Nigel, is it”. 

Too bloody true it wasn’t, I resembled some sad recidivist loser on day release. Chris was also perplexed concerned over his image that had a likeness of some crusty old tramp huddled over the car, eating a bag of chips. He was outraged, so much so that he wanted to take the paper immediately to the Oak to show our friends. Jimmy the Axe and Knocker had mustered early, in the garden, to have the final team talk before their band trip to Porto on Thursday. Billy and Lewis were expected imminently, the Doc was preparing light refreshments for later. They were still debating the location of the final digs after they had left the city. Doc’s argument for pre booking again fell on deaf ears. The Axe and Knocker by this time were on their fourth pint and were definitely not in listening mode. They were also distracted when Chris produced the evening post with my beaming half-wit face filling most of the second page, above the caption read, “Nigel Plans One More Jolais Trip”. I was the village idiot, the smiling clown, the patsy, the shmuk who was not only totally humiliated in the local ‘rag’ but was subject to relentless abuse from the present congregation. When everyone had exhausted a seemingly endless list of derogatory terms we fell silent, but only for a moment until Lewis noticed that just to the left of my flaky, insane visage was a further caption that read “Man Faces Rape Charge”. This naturally started another round of jibes. At that point I was praying that their trip really does go Tit’s up.          

Thankfully, I claimed that the actual copy was well written and measured. Its one thing being stitched up by an unimaginative, predictable photographer but if the journalist had also twisted the story I would have been thoroughly pissed off. Luckily, I had made this statement in front of Salty who then informed me that Kristina Woods was in fact Robert’s fiance. I would have been in the doo doo if I had badmouthed the future daughter-in-law. Robert did arrive a little later and we had quite an informative chat about journalism, pot holing, geology and Chile. Funny old world.                         

The wheat from the chaff

Tues.09.05.06. It has been a day of essential administration necessitating sending the detailed parts list to all the major suppliers. ‘Fitchetts’ responded very quickly requesting more details about the engine number to enable them to identify the equivalent parts. The conversation also extended to demanding further proof that Chris is genuinely involved in the ‘trade’. Their enquiry to confirm ‘trade status’ was merely to ‘protect the industry’. There must be one price for private and one for proper ‘traders’. The VAT registration document, that Chris had earlier sent as evidence, according to Fitchett, wasn’t adequate as it didn’t actually state ‘Motor Trader’. ‘Fitchett’ suggested that Chris could possibly be a plumber or a butcher trying to make a cheap car by accessing components at trade prices. Naturally, Chris interpreted this as a direct insult repeating that he had been VAT registered for 35 years, handing over thousands of pounds of Taxation in that period. He didn’t need a fancy letter head because he only ‘dealt’ within the trade. Another sticky patch arose when Fitchett refused to sell a Left hand drive steering rack. The explanation being that normally an exchange policy usually applies to ‘racks’. Right for right and left for left. We had a right but wanted a left. “Lefts are always in demand, in America especially, we just can’t get enough!” claimed Fitchett. “But there is absolutely no difference when re-conditioning the unit because the splined universal rose ball joint is identical both on the right as on the left, and this is the part, if any, that would need to be replaced” Chris, expertly, replied. “It is not always the splined universal rose ball joint that shows signs of wear but more commonly the shimmed pinion grease nipple attached to the ball joint bell end that corrodes. This unit is quite different from right to left”  declared Fitchett. “It is quite a simple matter to switch the slip ring mounting rubber on a left for the spire nut gaitered insulator of the right thus making a complete clamp side bush assembly to match the nozzled grease plug ball joint mounting rubber of the right” countered a confident and lucid Chris. Fitchett finally agreed to consult his technical team and would get back to us with an answer. “You don’t need to get back to us because you can stick your precious left hand drive steering rack up your arse!” replied Chris, politely. I now suppose that Fitchett fits snugly in the ‘fuck off bin’.

As promised, I kept my appointment with Steve. I handed over our parts request and also asked if I could borrow one of his aero screens to see if they would be the dog’s bollocks or a dog’s dinner on the Burlington. I left my watch as collateral assuring Steve that I would return the screen the same day. Testing the screen on the car was successful. We shall certainly press on with this dramatic modification.

In the afternoon Jo and I attended the memorial service, at De La Salle, for Geoff. A tree planting ceremony and the unveiling of an Oak bench preceded a mass. It was an emotional, yet, uplifting service with staff and students, in particular, remembering the qualities of Geoff, our very close friend. We left after the service to return the aero screen to Steve and collect my watch.

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Stripping the bones of the chassis

Mon.08.05.06. A quiet weekend has left us refreshed for the next phase of building or dismantling as it is more accurately described. Colin continues to refine the lines, carefully matching the nose cone to the bonnet. The ugly square holes that were revealed, when the air vents were removed from the top of the bonnet, have now been ‘filled’ in preparation for the final coat.

 Chris and I have had the task of stripping the former rolling chassis to confirm the worth or value of the remaining components. The chassis resides at Slicks in Coppull and has been there since its’ removal from David’s farm. It quietly lies in a corner of the yard slowly but surely being overgrown by dandelions increasingly becoming encircled by Ollies dog shit.

 We removed the front wheels, examined the front suspension and brakes to discover that the brake callipers were doomed, the chrome inserts appeared to be welded to the casings, as a consequence re-conditioning is not an option. The Spax shockers on the rear of the suspension have survived and are in remarkable working order. The differential again seemed to be in fine condition only requiring a new seal on the inlet port and similarly on the two outlet ports. The rear spring, half axles and wishbones all can be rescued, cleaned, galvanised and incorporated into the new chassis.

We have again drawn up a list of new parts that we intend sending off on Tuesday to the three main suppliers, Rimmer Brothers, T.D. Fitchett and The Welsh MG Centre (incidentally this company had quoted the best price for a Midget petrol tank and claim to be able to access many original Triumph parts). All three companies promise the most competitive discount price but I am sure that some will not reply, some will be far too expensive and all will fuck us around, which up until now, seems to be the norm for this industry. I also plan to offer the same list to Sheep-dip Steve and Jethro John, and if I was a betting man I would say that theirs’ would be the best service and quote.

No Oak for Nigel tonight as I need to draw up the parts list. 

Deliverance 2

Later in the day we went to meet Steve and John of S and J motors hopefully to see some ‘out of the box’ Triumph parts. Whittle le Woods, Chorley, as pretty as it is, has remained in splendid isolation from the rest of Lancashire, for a minimum of two centuries. Being protected from the Industrial Revolution, both world wars, basically any experience that the civilised world has thrown up or forgotten. As such it is firmly believed to have a population of inbreds, simple folk who count toes co-existing comfortably with numpties who regularly point to the sky when an aeroplane passes over. I had met Steve at Stoneleigh, the week before, and apart from his soulless staring eyes and his expressionless, vacant manner, I thought that he was quite an agreeable sort of person, all of this I couldn’t communicate to Chris because of his innate distrust of anyone who sells anything concerned with the motor trade. In all honesty, compared with many of the people I had spoken to at the show, Steve was fundamentally an intellect.
The two brothers lived at Springview, Shaw Brow, Whittle le Woods. Asking directions from Steve, earlier in the day, he replied very concisely, “If you go past Shaw Hill Golf Club you will have gone past”. I requested further clues but there was no response. We eventually found Shaw Brow but not Springview. After travelling up and down the hill several times I phoned again still unable to locate the business. His mother answered, asking where we were. “We are on Shaw Brow next to a restaurant and opposite Shaw Hill Golf Club,” I explained. “Depending where you are you are only 20 feet away from the house,” returned Moma Steve. I, once more, repeated our position. “Are you at the beginning or the end of Shaw Brow?” questioned Moma. “I don’t know where it starts,” said I, still confused. “It starts at the bottom and goes to the top, but that depends on which way you come in,” replied Moma the philosopher. “So, we are only 20 feet away,” I confirmed, “How do you know?” I, again, questioned. “Because I can see you in your Land Rover,” Moma replied calmly. We walked up the drive and waited but there was no sign of Moma, Steve or John. Moma then came to door smiling asking us where Steve was. Surprisingly, we did not know. Chris had not said a word until now but I could sense that he thought that I had fucked up once more. His understanding and opinion of the people involved in kit car construction was on a level with Tax collectors, Police, Politicians, Doctors, Bus drivers, lady drivers, the bar staff at the Oak, Knockers singing, selling to the public, the traffic in Standish, tete dust, foreign people, sunshine, wind, rain, snow and Chavs.
When Steve appeared this view of flaky, bearded geeks was about to be reinforced. I was immediately reminded of the same empty expression I recalled from Stoneleigh. As he greeted us grinning I noticed a strange sparkle coming from his mouth. Over the next agonising minutes this tiny bijou was being continually caught by the bright sunlight, almost hypnotically we were transfixed by this image. The spell was broken when John arrived and proceeded to carefully open the boot of his car revealing the parts that we had travelled to see. In a blue plastic box were examples of what we were searching for: boxed, original ‘Stanpart’ components. Calipers, trunnions, wheel bearings, rubber bushes, engine and gear box mountings. Chris began to brighten as both he and John exchanged stories of wishbones, gearing ratios, spring tolerances, valve clearances, steering racks, laser alignment, wheel camber, Dunlop or Michelin, 427 or 335 which was the best? Spax or Konis, vinyl or leather, jumpers for goalposts, spit or swallow. The sparing continued for 30 minutes, each winning alternative rounds. Chris was now a fully paid up member of the club. He had become ‘Anorak’. Steve stood silent and motionless whilst the bout continued, only offering occasional support for his brother. I was feeling relieved whilst gloating from the success of the visit Chris reminded me that I still had not made a list of the essential parts that we needed and if John was to source these parts he must have a list. “You have let me down again, you are slower than a Mexican donkey, get your act together, shape up, I keep telling you but you don’t listen!” “Do you mean the itemised list that I made for Rimmers with part numbers, inclusive or exclusive of V.A.T., sub totals and final totals. The one that gave you two months ago,” I was about to say, but thought more of it, and merely replied that I would prioritise his demand over the weekend.

We shook hands with Sheep-dip Steve and Jethro John promising that an order form would be in the post. We may have struck gold with these characters; we both live in hope.

There is such a concept; Bad Publicity

Fri.05.05.06. The Lancashire Evening Post had hoped to see the car along with an interview with Chris and I around lunchtime, but Chris determined this would be unwise. He was concerned that the car was not ready for anyone to see just yet and felt that I could deal with the reporter and photographer probably better at my house. When Christina Woods phoned to discuss the project of the re-build together with the Beaujolais run, I informed her of the change of plan suggesting that the photographic material from 1981 would be more appropriate plus several images from the present dismantling of the vehicle particularly at the picturesque location of David’s farm. She agreed, but enquired if I minded if Frank Orrell popped down to take a head shot of me for the paper. Frank duly arrived asking politely about the background to the venture. He ‘reeled’ me in like a cunning old fisherman, or, which was more likely ‘a sceptical old hack’, with his phoney interest in the project, suckering me into holding a glass of wine to my face for the shot. “I don’t suppose you have any spanners?” requested Frank. “Of course”, I stupidly replied. I had fallen into the trap once more. There I stood in the garden with spanners in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, complete cheese. Jo was pissing herself by now as I flinched with every shot. Christina actually did phone later for the story. I went into raptures about the new build vehicle and how 25 years on we couldn’t wait to repeat the run again. As the interview continued there seemed less about the car and more about how emotional it must be for me with all of these fond memories of past dear friends, growing old, losing hair, budding broken veins, worn out, creaking bones etc…This was another tuttle, I am now sure that the substance of the article as well as the stupidly banal photograph will elevate me to the position of local arsehole. 

Compromise

Thurs.04.05.06. We have had a day off. The success of the previous day and the accumulative clouds of tete dust that were gradually overwhelming the house, has meant that we have had to ‘mark time’ today. In the afternoon I phoned S and J motors, of Whittle le Woods, to arrange to view the many original Triumph parts they claim to have (these are the people I had met at Stoneleigh who I latterly realised traded from Chorley). They appeared very knowledgeable on the phone, but so did Richard of Sheffield and Dave and Ian of Glasgow who are now doing life in the ‘fuck off bin’. 

Fine tuning body panels

Weds.03.05.06. Chris and Colin had started work by 8.00 am. From being in the pits last night we were all uplifted as to how the car was coming together. The slow, meticulous, yet thoughtful, pace of Colin was paying real dividends. He had precisely marked all the necessary contact points for the wings, bonnet and nose cone to the central tub and scuttle. He shaved, very carefully, slivers from the leading edges of the bonnet so that it met the engine side panels perfectly. He had previously lowered the front wings by three centimetres causing a problem with the fitting of the nose cone. But, he had achieved a compromise by fine adjustment, maintaining the angle of the newly levelled bonnet, the lowered front wings and the nose cone. All the body panels fitted immaculately accentuating the beautiful flowing lines of the car. Small pieces of filler were then used as markers to finely position all the sections. It only remains for these areas to be rubbed down, sculpted slightly, thus blending into the whole. Everyone stood back to imagine how the car will now appear when finished. Edges smoothed, lines cleaned, angles altered, the new strength and engineering quality of the chassis, all were there to be admired. Collectively, we were witnessing three weeks of concentrated development work dramatically emerging before us.

Chris and Colin now turned their attentions to the cockpit. The monumental decision of whether or not the car should be left or right hand had been discussed in the ‘Roy Castle’ corner the night before. ‘Where will it live?’ France or Wigan, ‘how will it be maintained throughout a cold wet winter?’ ‘Could Gemma look after it if it was in London?’ But, as Chris remarked, “Just imagine driving through those quiet, leafy French roads”, was in fact, enough to sell the idea. The car will be changed to left hand drive; will be stored in France, driven in France, Italy and Spain, and anywhere else that the car will take us.         

The next courageous development would be to replace the windscreen with two fly screens. This would solve many other impending problems that we have yet to meet. Namely, the location of the heater, the wiper motor, the re-design of the side screens, the fixing of the hood, all of which we now do not need. In an instant we were bursting with new ideas. Colin suggested that the gear stick could, in fact be moved forwards as well as shortened effecting a much more comfortable driving position. Chris felt that the hand brake mechanism should be centralised combining practicality with a comfortable working action. Colin favoured the height of the central tunnel being reduced to encourage a natural flow to the boot area. Chris pointed out that the pedal box was too high, stating that changing gear must have been extremely awkward: a new box must be fabricated then placed at a convenient height. It is all suddenly becoming exciting.

The gang had already gathered at the Oak by the time we arrived so we were met with a barrage of, “No more Bertie!”, “No more oily rag!” “Have you finally burned that Sofa in your garage?”, “get the round in!” Eventually, there was a half sensible request from Danny, “any progress with the plywood flyer?” Of course, this was water off two ducks backs as we pompously informed everyone of today’s dramatic progress. I, also, casually mentioned that the Post and Chronicle had been in contact requesting to produce an article about the car and the race. They would be in touch tomorrow to arrange a mutual meeting. The bating crowd was now silenced, but not for long.

Chris was mistakenly wearing the £3.00 jeans that he had won a few months earlier from Humphrey Moon, when he was still a car trader. They were £3.00 for a very good reason. Questions were asked as to what chest size they were and where did the arse finish. Chris defended his acquisition by extolling the quality of the denim and the finely stitched seams. His other main defence was to attack Toby’s pink polo shirt. Toby, for most of the evening, had been swanking around the pub, chatting to Katie the barmaid and Katie the saltette, like a rustic farmyard cock puffing out his chest. Lofty, as Danny refers to him, always has a serious ‘sniff’ when the chickitas are about: he is at his best when Jamie’s girlfriend is in the Oak ‘the girl with the massive charlies’ his eyes constantly glued to her chest. Lowtie felt that Chris could complete his ensemble by borrowing Toby’s shirt. Pink polo with denims would work but also means ……GAY. With that, Toby rips the polo from his back revealing his ancient crumpled torso then offers the shirt to Chris: who graciously declines. The polo is only returned after cries of “You’ll flatten the beer”, “you faver a lumpy mattress” and “you’ll frighten a bobby’s horse”. The girls at the bar cringed probably never having seen an old persons flesh before. Chris chuckles.

Serious Decisions

                                         Burlington Diary. May 2006

Tues.02.05.06. By the time I reached the workshop Colin and Chris had been busy in the garage locking horns. Their main concern was how the wings, nose cone and bonnet should finally come together. Colin is very methodical in his approach justifiably demanding that every aspect should be ‘textbook’. As twisted as the body tub has grown to be Colin can always see a solution to balancing these deficiencies against the potential natural beauty inherent in the lines of the car. But these somewhat ethical decisions are now consuming too much time as a result we are fast approaching the ‘crossroads’ deadline to either to strive for perfection or to accept a realistic compromise.

It appeared that not much genuine progress had been made throughout the day but even if, yet again, more questions than answers have been raised then, in retrospect, we should all feel reasonably satisfied. The working day was stumbling to its’ inevitable conclusion when Colin stood back determined to reiterate his thorny recommendations by outlining a comprehensive programme of work, which would then develop into our forth coming tasks. Nearby, but plainly visible, a purple tide began to rise, first from his neck, creeping slowly, but relentlessly, utterly engulfing his face. Chris was feeling the strain of the day. This was real blood pressure. He understood precisely what this meant, yet his mind was in denial. Most of what we had ‘signed off’ the previous week must ultimately be re-worked to a much more exacting standard. This was Colin’s assessment of the way forward. We badly needed a pint.

We left Colin at Westmead vacuuming tete dust, tidying away various spanners, screwdrivers, ratchets, sockets, wrenches, discarded 80’s, 150’s, 1200’s, rounded and flat rasps, hammers, clamps, old nuts and bolts, gathering past drawings of intended modifications, attempting to build shelves and cupboards using the poor timber that I had bought earlier, mending the 5 foot fluorescent tube that has never been lit, constructing a ‘spit’ to rotate the car, fixing an engine hoist to the ceiling using pram wheels, old bike chains and, finally, wiring an extractor fan to remove any impurities in the air. Chris will no doubt return from the Oak to find that his garage has been transformed into a proper workshop. My arse.

The Oak was subdued after the Bank Holiday weekend, comfortably claiming many casualties. Chris was beginning to relax after the days’ disappointments, turnarounds but especially the noticeable lack of progress. The problems appear to be multiplying instead of being resolved, but this is what is to be expected if we truly want to produce a very special vehicle. Meanwhile, the seemingly wonderful parts that I had acquired at the Stoneleigh Show were being scrutinised by Chris and Jo. After thorough analysis it was concluded that I, in fact, had bought quality gear but for the wrong vehicle. The sheer weight of the wing lights would knock 20mph off the overall speed, they could also, if required, illuminate Blackpool, the front flashers were the size of saucers and very orange, the rear stop lights did not include the genuine mounting brackets, the dashboard mirror, de-mister vents were too wide for the scuttle top, the Aston filler cap, as cheap and good as it was, needed the most important component, the connecting mechanism. I had, however, successfully bought two enamelled ‘union jack’ badges and two Triumph, rubber, pedal protectors.

We had, as usual, been amused by the events of the day but also, as much as we did not want to show it, we were disheartened.  

Stoneleigh 2006

I wandered out of the hall with the sole purpose of returning to the Burlington stand. Trudging from the exhibition halls, passing the neatly cordoned off ‘register’ stands I persisted in my quest to snap off endless photos of radiator grills, bonnet catches, interior trim, dashboards, side screens and windscreens. Arriving at the pitch I found three miserable Berrettas with only one owner present. He had been coming to shows for the last 15 years modestly exhibiting this wreck of a car; he hadn’t seen Haydn Davies for 20 years. Furthermore, he understood that the register had closed having not received a newsletter for five years, but lastly, and more importantly he had not seen an SS in 7 years. My feeling was that they are all possibly dead or rotting away, untouched in some lockup, confirming that mine is even more unique. Now who’s the smug bastard?     

        

I left the show around 4.00pm. It has been a very fruitful day. I am loaded down with brochures, business cards, price sheets and posters all to be collated when I am refreshed. Essentially, I have sorted the wheat from the chaff, made some worthwhile contacts and have bought some excellent fittings for the car. Driving north the motorways were free of traffic; I risked the hood down on the Saab, but having frozen my nuts off by Birmingham I decided to replace it. I arrived home at 6.30pm truly excited about my day.

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Parts and more parts

Studying the site plan a made directly for 49A, the “Burlington register” stand. Having found the stand I couldn’t find any vehicles, assuming that it was a little early I pressed on to my next target which was the Hawke stand. Success, a tidy pitch with 6 strong examples of the marque. I blasted away with my camera, hopefully, capturing all the features that we had targeted for later scrutiny. Halls A to E contained the major suppliers of components that I aimed to explore. I figured that, if I visit all the stands to compare prices I would consult with Chris via the magic mobile phone, before I made my final swoop. I went to Allifab and Autobrass, Coventry nut and bolt, the Electrical Parts Company and Europa Specialist spares, LB restoration projects and Midland Wheel supplies, Minimenders and Noggin End Metals, RNR aluminium and Rapidfit Looms, Soft bits for Sevens and Surplus Supplies, and finally Woolies and Welder’s Warehouse. 

I came across two wrinkly old crusties running the stand of the Electrical Parts Company who had genuine Lucas lighting parts, but even after haggling, promising them a shipping order and waving my wedge around, the wily old crock still wouldn’t budge on price. This was my third visit to their stand so I correctly gave up and focussed my attentions to Automec Equipment for all my lighting requirements, but, although cheaper the quality was very poor and I knew that Chris wouldn’t put up with poorly crafted crap from the Eastern Block. I temporarily, abandoned my search for lights going back for a second time to Europa to price out ‘wire’s’. The total of £800.00 included splines, hubs and nuts but Andy on the counter did offer a deal, via “Mary in the office”, of a nominal percentage concession for a one off order of over a grand. He can go and bollocks. 

On a different hunt I discovered that not one seat manufacturer would sell me a naked seat, proudly claiming that they didn’t want their reputation tarnished by a rank amateur fumbling in a garden shed. Our fumbling upholsterer happens to be one of the most highly regarded craftsperson in this field, Terry Trimmer. I rapidly became accustomed to the bullshit that pervades this industry knowing full well that these seats in question are made in some sweatshop in India, with very little quality control but displaying an even greater lack of concern for the unfortunate buggers who labour for them. So, Spargo, Corbeau and Cobra seats can all go into the ‘fuck off bin’.

I, at long last made first deal with Beugler Strippers who were selling an Aston petrol cap for £35.00. I smugly rejoiced in my first bargain because, shite ones sell for that money. This, on the contrary, was genuine chrome on brass usually costing £90.00. On a roll I visited my last lighting supplier with fixed prices and the list etched in my brain. He not only had quality Lucas parts but knew exactly the parts that Morgan actually used. Bingo, I eagerly purchase, 4 Lucas indicator lights (Lucas 794) for £22.00 each, 2 Lucas rear stop/tail lights (Lucas 692) for £18.00 each, 2 chrome on brass Lucas bullet wing lights for £50.00, 2 polished air vents £9.00 each, 1 rear view chrome on brass mirror £17.00, 2 Triumph rubber pedal covers for £2.00 each and lastly, 2 enamelled on brass Union Jack badges £4.00 each. I wanted to spend, spend, and spend because, as the show was now closing, this would be the last opportunity I would have to buy this range of quality swag. But, as I was stuffing everything into a used Tesco bag I suddenly recognised the salesman’s accent. The two brothers behind the stall were from Chorley. Fuck me; I have travelled 110 miles to buy lights from a bloke who just lives up the road. The total bill was £200.00 with discount, but all the bits have provenance, therefore, as such, excellent.