Fri.19.05.06. Colin and Chris have replaced the old engine side panels with new marine ply creating a preferential aero-dynamic design. The audacious approach to the windscreen has been adopted since, after much discussion we have decided to run with the idea of a dual system incorporating the collapsible full windscreen together with the aero screens. This then allows each system to operate independently of the other. The full screen when in the upright position will ensure the hood and wind deflectors can be used for inclement weather, whilst the aero screens can be fitted, when the folding main screen has been removed, for the warmer summer days.
Colin, always anticipating difficulties, has suggested a superior method of attaching the screen brackets to the scuttle sides: once fitted he intends filling their back edge to enhance the line of the scuttle. This should also emphasise that they are not just merely ‘bolt-ons’.
Andrew Monday, of Rimmer Brothers, had telephoned mid afternoon to verify that we had in fact received his communication. His earlier ‘fax’ was something that we chose to ignore, not just because of the varied prices of many of the components, but since other main suppliers had let us down badly in the past, we naturally assumed that Rimmers, who had not replied to our first request, would not be any different. When Chris did take the call he was extremely surprised to find that ‘Andy’ was incredibly knowledgeable about the world of Triumph, kit cars, suspension modifications, weighting calculations, braking systems, chassis tolerances, in fact, every technical problem that no else had been able to answer. Chris was even more impressed when prices began to tumble once he established himself as being ‘trade’. He was further encouraged because they both appeared to be talking the same ‘oily rag’ language.
Having at last established this positive connection with a principle supplier, Andy of Rimmer Brothers, they have now been liberated from the fuck off bin presently standing firmly on the ‘pedestal of rock’ alongside John of Life’s motors.
I had missed all this excitement having spent most of the day delivering cars to various back street garages around the northwest. Returning to base late in the day I could only sense to the enthusiasm that filled the garage. I felt envious not having experienced, at first hand, the progress and sheer delights of the day. In comparison, mine had been a day of Shite.
The ‘awkward squad’ had returned from Porto. Knocker with peeling head, Jimmy the Axe with runny bot, Billy Green fatter, the Doc bemoaning not being able to ‘cook’ and Lewis with a suitcase full of contraband. This trip must have been comparatively successful as there were no arrests, missed flights, broken limbs or fallouts. Bummer. The Oak was packed with Friday night revellers just at the beginning of their liquid weekend. Vince and Linda, who we had not seen for quite sometime, were just leaving but we did manage a brief chat about holiday experiences, DIY problems and local rugby issues. Vince is the most generous person but he, unfortunately, has the reputation for repeating the same anecdotes over and over again. “Stop me if I have told you this one” would be his opening gambit to a story that inevitably had been recounted endless times, nevertheless, nothing was going to stop the further repetition of this weary tale, the Range Rover on Twickenham car park, the ten gin and tonics, not seeing the game, the great food in the restaurant, the early night, because now I have learned my lesson, knowing when to stop. “No you don’t because you’ve just told me the same fucking story again!” I thought to myself. He, together with Linda, are genuine toffs but it is always paramount to have an escape route in place to avoid being cornered and suffering the slow, relentless torture of being Vinced to death.
The group was swelling when Danny and Katie, Adrian, the brother of Danny, who incidentally is married to Vicky, Katie’s saltette sister strolled in. Danny was wearing his dad’s chequered sports coat or one that he had bought at a charity shop: there is absolutely nothing wrong with purchases at Charity shops, I have made in the past many astute acquisitions, particularly in Clitheroe: posh handouts from wealthy landed gentry. Consequently, he had to run the gauntlet of abuse from Lowtie, Andrew Higham and, of course, Chris. “Let me try it on, I have not seen one of those for years” Chris tactfully requested. “Just fits” declared the triumphant poseur, who by now was strutting up and down the bar like a gloating peacock eying up his harem. “Perhaps a few visits to the gym wouldn’t go a miss” suggested Danny observing the garment loosely hanging off the shoulders. Experimenting with various buttoning methods Chris continued, Jagger like, to parade around the room. Jason King, Norman Wisdom, Norman Vaughan and Frankie Vaughan were all referred to by the extremely well entertained on lookers. The coat was eventually returned to its’ embarrassed owner, Danny, or his dad, who took the jibes squarely on the chin.
Whilst these antics were the focus of everyone’s attention another old friend had sloped into the bar. Joe Berry, who from a very early age had possessed the face of an old man. Rubbery, pleated, extensively folded, Joe had been lumbered with this boatrace for the last forty years. His present visage now has obvious advantages, time having stood still for Joe. At sixty he looks exactly the same as he did as a teenager. Unfortunately, he suffers from a weak bladder, on numerous occasions he would emerge from the ‘stones’ with a tell tale damp patch indicating that he had not quite made it. Many years ago he arrived at a Christmas Eve party at David’s with a huge piss stain down the front of his ‘kecks’ asking if he could borrow a pair of the host’s trousers. David duly obliged. Joe stood proudly at the top of the stairs clad in a pair fresh-pressed white chinos. Disaster struck after the first step, the flood gates opened, “whoops” mumbled Joe, “I’d best get my coat”. But to be fair that was a long time ago perhaps presently he has greater control over his bodily functions. Most of the crowd in the Oak had moved on when Joe began to show off the jack plug socket in his head. “It’s a recent operation, because I suffer from tinnitus I am allowed this £2000 electronic hearing device. I just plug in this amplifier and everything becomes stereo. I was listening to Pink Floyd the other night and I swear I had an out of body experience, I was tripping”. “No you weren’t, Joe, you were dripping” I commented, after noticing the damp stain on Joe’s Levis. The three of us left the pub, later than intended, only after all of the old memories had been re-lived. We staggered up the hill to Scarisbrick Street and home.
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