So spaketh Max

He was also showing signs of agitation due to the bombastic nature of Max. “You see, this prop with a ‘bean can’ has a tolerance of up to one inch so if you are not sure of the gap then you have that movement, most people never know their gap”. What’s a fuckin’ bean can? “Now then, he continued, this stainless steel exhaust is the best you’ll get; it’ll make the car sound like a “V” eight”. 

Chris had returned from his nature walk bravely posing the question of perhaps being reimbursed if it proved that the exhaust and manifold were too difficult to fit. “Of course you can, but if you can’t fit it, you shouldn’t be doin’ the fuckin’ job in the first place!” Changing the subject, I asked Max if he had been able to locate the correct clocks for the dash, to which he emptied a box of hopefuls onto his trade counter. Chris disappeared again, his blood pressure rising steadily. I chose the pretty ones; I didn’t care whether or not they worked I was making executive decisions in the absence of the boss. “Did you find a loom?” ventured Chris, upon his third return to the garage. “Is that a Mk3 or a Mk4 Spit with an overdrive, or a 13/60 without? Do you want a half loom or the full wiring harness, a sender from a reversing light or a relay from the box to the regulator, a connector to the voltage stabiliser or the fuse box breaker type?…..come on make up your mind.” By now I was ready to get my coat, I had not a clue what he was talking about, but I nodded not saying a word.  Max then ripped open a plastic Tesco bag that contained a rare Mk1 Spit fire loom. “What do you think of that then; most people feel that it’s amazing?” Both Chris and I looked at each other in despair. “That’s worse than the one we have just taken off” commented Chris. “What the bloody hell do you expect, its’ 40 years old, most people are like you, you shouldn’t bloody start a job if you can’t finish it!” “I think we might pass on the loom but please tally up the rest of the bits”, I offered diplomatically, as Chris went on ‘walk about’ once more, with purple face, his blood pressure sky high.

The total amount came to £264.00; exactly how much of it we shall actually commit to the project is subject to debate. I made one final request of Max and that was to use his toilet. Having loaded the Discovery with the swag my hands were grubby and I thought that I had better wash them before the journey home. “Where is it, Max?” Pointing to the surrounding fields, Max replied: take your pick, there’s loads out there, mate! Finally, climbing into the ‘Disco’ Chris cheerfully wished Max a fond farewell offering a small wager, “Any way Max, I’ll bet that we are in the pub before you tonight”, to which Max replied that he had not had a drink for eighteen years sadly claiming that he just rattled around because of the amount of pills that he had to take.  Better not to ask, I thought. 

It may well be that we have been on another fools errand but I have a feeling that in retrospect we might have won this one. The jury is out.                  

Lets play the split the half shaft game.

Thurs.12.10.06. Today we have been on a spending spree at Totally Triumph the home of Big Max. I have carried around the half shafts in the Discovery for the past few weeks taking them first of all to Slicks but worse still, to Nutty Steve both promising faithfully to split them. This exercise was to ensure that the old bearings and bushes could be removed without damage to the outer hubs enabling new ones to be carefully fitted later.

True to form both had failed to deliver so we were hoping that Max would volunteer. Max, to cover his back, attempted to explain the difficulties of splitting them without ruining the thread at the end of the drive shaft. “You see, the problem is, most people apply heat which immediately corrupts the temper of the steel buggering up the thread. If that’s fucked you’re fucked, excuse my French. But I’ll have a go if you want me to”. Max placed one of the axles in a vice, he then, after attaching the ‘Churchill’ hub extractor began to turn….and turn….and turn. There must have been about 300lbs of torque (well, a lot anyway) at the end of the wrench but the shaft wouldn’t split; Max reverted to plan ‘B’, a sledgehammer. “Just hold that block of wood while I give it a bash”. Chris looked at Max and replied “I’ll tell you what, you hold the wood and I’ll use the hammer”. Max decided to use a lighter leather hammer, fortunately the shaft popped out, but as predicted the thread was damaged beyond repair. The second half shaft proved to be less contentious, comfortably splitting quite easily leaving the thread and the shaft perfectly intact. “That’s unusual, the needle bearing and the ‘Woodruff  key’ have not scared the shaft; fuck me, this is a good shaft, I’ve not seen as good a shaft in a long time”. It’s a pity that Max battered the life out of its brother I thought to myself, but I wasn’t prepared to point out that fact to Big Max. Max proposed an exchange from the racks of half shafts on display at a cost of £50.00 to £95.00 dependent upon how many old bearings had actually been replaced. We needed a little time to consider the options so we made a tactful retreat to work out the sums. 

We can purchase all the necessary replacement parts from Paddocks to complete the reconstruction ourselves, but if Max is prepared to rebuild our surviving shaft or offer an exchange part it is a viable alternative.

Max then proposed a pair of twin one and a half SU’s that had been recently removed from a running vehicle; but with the recommendation of installing new jets and a ‘bloody good’ clean they should be OK for the car. “Don’t clean the ports too much because you’ll spoil the swirl: most people polish them to buggery and spoil the swirl, there’s no need, you’ll spoil the swirl”. I thought, what’s the fuckin’ swirl? But again I kept it to myself. “Right, you can have a brand new 38inch prop with a ‘bean can’ end for £79.00, but if you want to buy that from Paddocks you can, because I did, it doesn’t bother me see, it’s your choice!” Chris was fading fast with this ever-increasing list of choices opting instead to evaporate into the calm of the countryside. 

Great steps

Weds.11.10.06. True to form, Colin arrived unannounced to continue to work on the underside of the chassis. Those tasks completed, with typical methodology and precision, his attentions were drawn to the fixing of the petrol tank.

Having previously designed then constructed the rear section of the chassis the final fixing of the tank had been considered, but only provisionally. There are six fixing points on the tank but only five on the chassis cross members, consequently Colin first fabricated then welded another bracket to complement those of the tank. Spiralux ‘nutserts’ were introduced into the rear chassis section to retain the tank in the correct position. ‘Nutserts’ possess a threaded centre contained inside a tube. Having drilled the location for the nutsert it is then forced into the cavity where a bolt can be used to fasten the two components together. This system will allow the tank to be easily removed, if necessary, but also guarantees a firm, rigid and fixed position.    

The main objective for the afternoon was to dry build the drive train. The engine block was first bolted to the new rubber mountings which were then in turn connected to the reversed front turrets. The overdrive box was then added, the bell housing dropping perfectly into the newly cut section. 

The rear gearbox mounting plate rested neatly on the chassis centre reinforcement joint leaving 38 and 3 eighths inches from the face of the overdrive gearbox outer hub assembly to the differential universal joint drive flange; but this now has implications on the length of the prop. Predictably, another problem will arise because the wheel studs on the present 4:11/1 diff have 3 eighths centres whereas the gearbox centres are 5 eighths, as a result the correct flanges will need to be matched to the prop. After consultation with Big Max plus thorough reference to the workshop manual we have discovered that it is possible to solve all of these discrepancies. Prop shaft sizes can vary, dependent upon the model; from 37, 38 and 38 and 3 quarters inches. A 38 inch prop would be the exact length for the Burlington. The rubber engine mountings could then be placed on the outside, instead of the inside, of the turrets to be adjusted using the slotted fixing bracket: this would then absorb the 3 eighths tolerance in the gap. This shortfall could also be addressed by adding extra spacing washers on either end of the Hardy Spicers. The incompatibility of the flanges can also be easily rectified by cutting and welding the appropriate size of flange to the outer hub assembly of the amended prop. As before these minor problems are never insurmountable and in many respects the total drive train has fitted very comfortably to the vehicle, as if it were specifically designed for the purpose.

No one could have imagined how spectacularly successful the alterations and positional relocation of the drive train could have been. Gaining the extra inches by pushing the engine backwards was an achievement in itself, the overdrive box dropping in perfectly and securely is a huge benefit plus the improbability of the prop shaft being the exact length have all been unexpected, but most welcome surprises.

This might well become a landmark day. Crack open another tin of chunks.    

Colin arrives

Tues.10.10.06. Two days earlier than expected, Colin arrived to complete the additional welding to the chassis. It has been necessary to cut the box section where the waist of the chassis narrows; this is to house the overdrive gearbox ensuring also that the engine can utilize the original mountings when the turrets have been reversed. In total the drive train will be moved back at least 20cms. 

The actual length of the cut was 18cms to enable the housing to sit with sufficient working space should any routine maintenance be necessary. After the amendment had been carried out the alteration could hardly be noticed such was the exact craftsmanship of Colin. Sadly today, he was unable to repair the other cosmetic defects to the more visible underside of the chassis, until he returns on Thursday. Colin has always enjoyed a degree of personal control with regard to his committed time on any project; flexing his muscles, creating a reliance to reinforce a feeling of indispensability. But for us it is another delay that we didn’t need.

Fashioned in the morning, the first maquette for the dashboard, which coincidentally was taken from the crude, patched up original version, has proved extremely valuable, even successful. Constructed from a stolen flower box, liberated from David’s flower market, the strong cardboard has formed the simple backcloth for the design of the dash. Black, circular decals have been cut to simulate the instrument dials, these can be arranged anywhere on the board offering numerous possibilities. 

Each of the experimental images has been photographed and shall be considered later. Using this bank of photographs it should facilitate selection, modification and rationalise the overall final design. The “Retro Morgan” dashboard has many comparable qualities that can be equally applied to the Burlington; at the moment this will be the starting point of our model.

A second coat of ‘Glanvilles rust proofing’ has enhanced the appearance of the chassis, Chris has started to build the front wishbone mechanism having previously cleaned and sprayed the callipers, Big Max has offered £100.00 for ‘Nutty bastard Steve’s’ overdrive gearbox against his own at £380.00, (no deal) and Paddocks are assembling our components order. This has been fruitful day.        

The emerging chassis

Mon.09.10.06. Colin has not been able to complete the welding over the weekend, as planned; he has also put off his next visit until Thursday. Frustratingly, this has disrupted the arrangements of the week. The bulk of the stock was due to be collected today from Paddocks and Big Max but until the box section area of the chassis has been ‘signed off’ which will accommodate the modified brackets for gearbox, the complete drive train cannot be built up, the front and rear suspension units are on hold as a consequence, the engine compartment cannot even be started. 

Nevertheless, we have begun to seal the chassis with ‘Glanville heavy duty rust proofing’. This concoction is a strange brew that was first introduced to us by ‘John the Paint’. The white creamy substance requires a certain level of rust on the metal to encourage a chemical reaction. The liquid is easily brushed onto the surface but on contact turns bright blue but later when dry becomes satin black in appearance. Once covered with the treatment the chassis became transformed into a robust, sturdy, sculptured piece of quality engineering. The alterations, predominantly to the rear quarter, have merged naturally with the original ‘50’s spider design to produce a unique structure; an art form in it’s own right.  

With very few bright, dry days of this year remaining our thoughts had drifted away from the tribulations of the project. The observations germinating from the weekend topic of pig rearing together with the urge to drive once more, encouraged Chris to call time on the ‘mission’ prompting a suggestion that we should ‘go off road’ on his land. So, by mid afternoon we had teamed up with Preacher Steven on the edge of the valley in pursuit of ‘larks’. Chris had recently acquired an ageing but solid Discovery along with an old but mint Sportrack. 

The workhorse versus the young pretender. Which vehicle would score 5 stars in ‘off roaders’ weekly? The previous venture on the land saw Danny Brennan laid low with a horse fly bite that would have killed an elephant, Steven reduced to pulp by an out of control sliding Land Rover and Chris trapped inside the same vehicle sinking into a bottomless bog. As a consequence I was pleased that my role in this mini adventure would be one of action photographer, not jungle driver. The land itself falls gently down to the Douglas in a tumbled, unkempt carpet of mixed vegetation, some older, broken trees interspersed by patchy grassland. The ten acres spread from Potters Herbal Remedies on its’ southern border to ‘seventy plenty’ steps which forms the northern boundary. There was enough varied terrain to challenge the metal of any ‘four by four’. The two adventurers ploughed on battering their way through the toughest tangled, woven undergrowth leaving swathes of muddy track in their wake. There were a few sticky moments, spinning rear wheels, the odd precarious slide but all in all it was trouble free bringing a comforting smile to every ones face. Not being able to drive since his stroke, Chris particularly enjoyed the simple pleasure of, once more, handling a motor car albeit at only four miles an hour: the joy was there to see. We must do it again.

Our little escapade was re-lived in the Oak that evening, slightly embellished but not exaggerated. During the course of the afternoon we were lucky enough to see a rabbit, a fox and a tiny Roe deer so it wasn’t such a giant leap to re-introduce the topic of ‘pig rearing’, especially as Tim’s concern was the primary source of amusement for Andy Lewis, who happened to see him over the weekend, and had learned of Tim’s concerns relating to the pigs. 

Everyone seized upon Tim’s plight hastily offering suggestions to Chris regarding many other possible uses for the land; perhaps, a few sheep, chickens, cows, turkeys, ducks and geese, the odd tramp accompanied by his ‘scrumpy soaked’ posse, a wrinkly coven of wizened white witches, eco-swampies excavating a labyrinth of tunnels, an itinerant band of hippies creating tree top dwellings regularly practising energetic overt naked love, caravans of Gypsies with their entourage of children, dogs and goats, a smoking, grubby Iron Age village jointly sponsored by the National Trust together with the local council and, even, possibly the site for the next “Glastonbury”  festival. “Food for thought” pondered Chris.                 

Green Pigs

The possibility of raising pigs on the land that Chris owns has surfaced again. The ten acres that borders the banks of the river Douglas was purchased many years ago but how best to occupy the wooded sloping contours of the land has never been properly explored. Ideas have been banded about throughout the past year, but none have actually materialised.

A four-wheel offroad facility, log cabins in the woods for tourism, growing cannabis under cloches or even low-density ridiculously expensive four bedroomed properties with pools has all been suggested. The Doc, Jimmy the Axe and Paul Higham are hatching a plot to raise 8 wieners per year, slaughtering 4, keeping the other four for a further year until the cycle begins again. The team, or democratic socialist co-operative as they prefer to be known as, would only require one acre of land for the venture. This would be rented from Chris in exchange for pork chops plus the odd gammon joint. An electric fence, a mobile shelter and a feed shed would all be acquired, to be installed before any animals could be purchased. Old English, protected species are the preferred option as they tend to be free of disease providing fattier, tastier pork. The Doc has done his calculations which unusually appear to be quite reasonable; wieners come in at £30.00 each, the electric fence at £150.00 and the shed at £200.00. The rotation of the land ensures that after the first one third of an acre has been destroyed by the pigs they are moved on to the next. The ground that is left, once restored, can be used for growing potatoes or any other root vegetables until the porkers return.

There are two main problems with the venture, as I see it. Firstly, the pigs need feeding twice a day. By whom? The Axe and Paul work 9 till 5 jobs and the Doc rarely climbs out of pit before four in the afternoon. Secondly, Tim Hilton, who lives with his wife Margaret in a big fuck off house adjacent to the land. He has always begged Chris for a patch to extend his garden but also to protect the indigenous rare wildlife of the valley. 

Bullshit! Tim is an egotistical acquisitive fucker who as only ever looked after number one, the very thought of grunters wondering menacingly around at the back of his property, definitely reducing the price of his ‘pile’ and preventing immediate access to the land to walk his dog fills him with dread.

The project is only due to commence next spring but I can see certain people getting mileage out of this one, even if it s only to wind up ‘tighter than cramp’ Tim and the charming Margaret, who incidentally ‘stitched up’ Chris and myself with that toe curling Beaujolais article in March. I sense revenge. 

Tom Andy

Sat.07.10.06. An old friend from a past life turned up at the Oak over the weekend, Tom Andy. He was originally a close friend of Joe Berry who had recently moved back to Wigan but like Andy had spent the last 25 years living around Chester as well as Wrexham. Andy planned to enjoy the weekend re-visiting his old haunts: the ones that still were standing, were not car parks or wine bars.

He once worked for Jo’s folks on the agricultural ‘shows’ having the task of keeping an eye on her, hopefully preventing the grubby horny students or flash reps from leading her astray. Andy was ideally suited to the environment of the shows; driving from one end of the country to another, camping out under canvas, in the back of vans or under the nearest table, drinking far too much, not sleeping nearly enough. The cheeky smile, street banter plus the ability to always spot an opportunity served Andy well. His favourite ‘chat up’ usually had some kind of medical twist. The unfortunate girl would be fed soppy sentimental lines of how he had once been compromised by his uneasy duty to the Hippocratic Oath, which he ambiguously preferred to interpret as ‘conscientious concerned sympathy’ for his patient. The final request of a young terminally ill attractive female was her desire to have sex for the last time. Would Andy oblige? Of course, but as he relates, he was caught inflagrante by the resident registrar. The primary care authority without delay dismissed him, issuing the compulsory directive that he should be barred from practising medicine forever. In the eyes of his next ‘target’ he was a caring, compassionate renaissance man who was obviously in torment, torn between statutory medical doctrines and his obligation to assist his patient in every possible way. This chat line never let him down until he foolishly attempted to deliver the same garbage to Jo, who curtly responded with “Fuck off Andy you’re a bloody van driver and lucky to be that!” Andy had momentarily forgotten that Jo was in fact familiar with his background being a friend of Joe Berry along with Andy’s other degenerate mates.                                                                                                                                     But, to his credit Andy could also take the piss out of himself, gamely he would recount stories about his shortcomings that inevitably led to embarrassment. In the sixties, (the first café culture), whilst sitting in the local coffee bar, the “Bod”, he was summoned by a friend to the door who informed him that, “Jane Miller will give you two and sixpence if you take her home and give her one”.

Andy agreed, stuffed the two and six in his pocket then stuffed Jane Miller on the carpet. But curiously after the event, Jane immediately then began to remove her earrings, her blouse and then her skirt. “Wait a moment what do you think you’re doing?” questioned a puzzled Andy. “I’m getting ready” explained Jane. “What for?” repeated a mystified Andy. “Well, you know; sex,” explained Jane. “What do you mean?  That was it, come on, I’ve got to get back to Wigan, avanti”. “Can I have a shilling back then?” posed Jane.         

Promises promises

Fri.06.10.06. I must have been looking at the wrong side of the oxo cube yesterday because, on reflection, there had been developments that have moved the project forward: steady as she goes. Today we have witnessed the rewards of Thursday’s procrastinations. 

The ‘63 bucket seats, although covered in decades of rust and neglect, have scrubbed up well boldly revealing their true sexy curves. Generous layers of rust proofing have produced a mottled black/brown surface, dramatically outlining the sumptuous, contoured, solidly dished back. The lower seat rails have also suffered little damage over the past 40 years; they are sturdy and mirror the sweeping lines of the rear support. The actual seat baskets appear flimsy but their ‘grid iron’ design ensures their strength emphasising their comfortable, deep bowl form. When the seats are finally covered with magnolia leather then piped in Connaught green trim they will be a delight to the eye. Sitting and driving will compare to nestling into the welcoming lap of a rubenesque 50’s movie star, perchance Jane Russell or Ava Gardner. I can’t wait. 

Using ‘daler board’ the boot box was much easier to construct. The provisional dimensions have produced a 12cm height by 66cm width and a 33cm depth. There is a dogleg on the front face elevation to enable the box to skirt over the differential. At the moment, the model has a 5cm lip that sits on the bulkhead suspending the box above the petrol tank. Later in the afternoon the maquette was fitted; remarkably no adjustment was necessary. The supporting lip will be extended by 7cm wide to 20cm on the leading edge, to cover all of the boot area. The space that has been created will easily accept several items of luggage, a refridgerated section for picnic provisions together with a number of bottles of Dom Perignon. If, at a later stage a boot rack is added there should be sufficient storage capacity for not just a daily jaunt but some serious European travel. What Ho, Bertie!

Throughout the morning Chris has been busily assembling the front hubs. The hubs themselves are placed in a hot oven to expand slightly whilst the bearings are put in a freezer to contract. When the two are brought together assembling the units is greatly facilitated. 

The bearings themselves have different origins; one has been engineered in the States, the other in Japan. The bonus being that they both have decent provenance, consequently they should deliver decent service. Naturally, the construction of the master cylinders exposed similar anomalies. The repair kits contained extra washes and clips which seem to be unnecessary. The rubber shrouds appear to be too large yet the seals fitted tightly. Blame for this may not lie at the door of ‘thieving fuck up, lying bastard Steve’, who reluctantly supplied the components, but the wholesaler who makes up the order. Who knows? We have met these problems before and I suspect we shall meet them again. Gracie Fields.              

The main focus of the day was to remove the wings, nose cone and engine panels so that the body tub could be lifted to reveal the chassis. Whilst Chris was methodically extracting all the bolts I began to mock up the dashboard area by cutting and forming a piece of scrap card that was gathering dust in the workshop. The sections were held together with masking tape but nevertheless this crude example could be the basis for several designs.

Extra ‘dummies’ can be fashioned at home to be re-fitted later to the cockpit. The decision to use aluminium, wood or a painted dash will then be considered.  Having stripped the car we then began to move the body tub onto the spare trestles. With both of us at the boot end we gingerly raised the rear of the car at the same time sliding the tail area towards the waiting supports.

“Fuck me, this is heavy, it must be all that tete that’s been used!” I ignorantly thought. “Wait, wait, we are lifting the friggin’ chassis and ‘diff’ as well; I’ve forgotten to take out the four screws from the boot supports, put it back quick!” But it wouldn’t go back. Chris began frantically pulling at the stand underneath the car in an attempt to return the body back to position one. Meanwhile, I struggling drenched in sweat held onto the complete rear of the car.                                                                                                                                      “Bring one of the spare trestles over to take some of the weight.” 

“No, I can fettle it here.”    

“Just bring one over, it will give us time to assess the problem?”

“No, I’ve nearly got it, oh no I’ve not, it’s getting worse!”

“Bring one of the trestles over to take the weight!”

“Nearly there, don’t drop it, we will be in the shit if you do, just one more tug and I’ll have it, oh bugger, it’s hanging off!”

“Please bring over another trestle; it’s an ideal substitute for the jammed one?”

“Now then, I know what to do, you won’t beat me Bertie! Oh frig it’s nearly off, hang on, don’t drop it now!”

“Bring that other trestle over, now!”

“We don’t need it; I know what to do, oh fuck!”

“I fuckin’ need it, bring it now!”

“Okay, that’s got it; you can ease your end down now.”  

The offending screws removed the tub was freed from the chassis. It was then a simple matter to relocate the two sections. “I can’t believe how light it is!” commented smiling Chris. “I think I can!” replied Nigel, with the broken back. The chassis was then swivelled over exposing the underside which now could be ground, sanded, polished and stroked, ready for the application of rust proofing, the final coat of protection: Hammerite or Zinc 182 may be used.     

This has been a quite excellent day. 

Three forward four back

 Thurs.05.10.06. No, it’s not going to happen. Inertia has re-surfaced. Another day of walking backwards. I have given up on the latest ‘Programmes of Work’ list. Compared with the progress that was achieved yesterday the 8 hours of graft today has produced little. It may be due to the nature of the whole job. Perhaps it is a case of many hours of seemingly treading water sooner or later would result in the targets being reached? 

We have tumbled back to the bottom of the ladder with the inevitable prospect that it has to be climbed once more. It has become another endless catalogue of the incomplete. The bonnet is almost finished, the location of the petrol tank has been tested against the route of the exhaust, the boot box has been mocked up in cardboard, the handbrake mechanism tested, the stage two head and road race cam have been considered, the callipers have been cleaned and polished, the seat baskets rust proofed and lastly, the design of the dashboard has been pondered yet again.

 In retrospect I have been hasty, impatient and probably frustrated. The project has moved forward albeit in a disjointed manner. The fable of the ‘Tortoise and the Hare’, the need to ‘break eggs to make an omelette’, there is always ‘work in progress’, and don’t forget the classic “it depends which side of the oxo cube you are looking at?”   all spring to mind. An indispensable Chris Doc quote, Help

Orders for the good

Weds.04.10.06. The day has been unusual but in an unlikely way, very productive. Chris has been up with the larks doing what he does best, butterflying from one task to another. The difference today is that these apparently minor, fiddly jobs needed completing and, for once, the fruit of his labours could be identified, for the first time, invaluable progress recognizable.The bonnet has had the necessary final adjustments, the front bumper wing brackets have been reinforced, the rear wings have been removed ready for collection by ‘Young Danny’, the anti-roll bar has been rust proofed and painted, the track rod ends fitted to the steering rack, the 63’ Spitfire seats have been stripped, await cleaning, prepared for covering, lastly, all the wing locating holes have been drilled to facilitate the penultimate dry build.

Although many of the afore mentioned tasks appear trivial their sum total is massively significant to the project, not just for tying loose ends but psychologically this has been one large step for mankind: as quoted by Lance Armstrong when landing on the ‘moon set’ at Paramount studios, Hollywood.The orders for Paddock and Big Max have also been discussed and ratified. John of Paddocks has committed to having the total stock available for collection on Monday, as will Max.Perhaps we shall experience more days like this. Almost trouble free, with simple goals completed, purposeful strategies planned and achieved, a relatively calm enjoyable atmosphere in the workshop. Bring it on!

Chalk and Cheese

Tues.03.10.06. The day has reaped mixed blessings. A visit to Nutty Steve has sealed his fate. The once promised total refund for the gearbox and seats has transformed into exchange goods only. Thieving, lying Steve refused a refund on the grounds that it was ‘company policy’ to only offer exchange goods to the amount owed rather than returning the cash that had been handed over. 

Chris was not pleased referring to him as not being a gentleman strenuously reminding him of the initial agreement when he plainly stated that there would “not be a problem” if any of the parts were faulty or did not fit the car. “I never said that I would give any money back, I only said that I would exchange!” lied, long nosed Steve. Chris walked off to stabilise his blood pressure whilst I negotiated a deal for any ‘new’ parts that he had or that we wanted. These turned out to be front wheel bearings, a repair kit for the master cylinders and a pair of track rod ends. We left Steve’s den of thieves with Chris still simmering hungrily planning his revenge. He intends to unleash the ‘wolves’ in the form of “Beeny’s Posse”, a ruthless team of forceful characters who are well practised at retrieving debt. “That friggin’, smirking, lying bastard will not get away with this, I really hate people like him, he should have been drowned at birth, the thieving fucker!”

Chris was still smouldering by the time we had reached Max at Totally Triumph, a place that I had only previously described. I was hoping that the workshops, stores and the general ordered rich environment of ‘T.T.’ might lift his spirits, in due course confining Steve to the dark recesses of his unforgiving mind. But, upon arrival, Chris could not resist an opening shot, first of all condemning Rimmers as conmen followed by ‘the bloke down the road’, as a “robbing git”.

Once it had been established who this ‘Git’ was Max filled in the spaces. “He used to work here until I flattened him. He then set up on his own next to his mother’s house. The council have since closed him down allegedly, stopping him from trading: he’s a right twat. He was always trying to take business from here after I had sacked him. One time an old lady wanted a raft of parts for a “Doli”. He slyly intercepted her before she arrived at my place, ripping her off by selling poorly serviced, damaged, dangerous units. This was the last straw so later that night I followed him to the pub with the sole intention of hurting him real bad. Unfortunately, he was with a mate. I only damaged his mate a little but Steve had to have it; so I broke both of his lower ribs, you know the ones that take ages to heal and hurt like fuck. Give him is due though, he got up once, but he stayed down after the second,” explained big Max.

Max proudly showed us reconditioned heads, stainless steel exhausts, five and half J wheels, an abundance of clocks and (would you believe it) a working overdrive box. He was being constantly bombarded with questions, all of which he answered with authority as well as calm patience. This was an Aladdin’s cave of delights. Everything that we had searched the entire country for has been here all the time only 30 minutes away. Had it not been for that chance encounter with the customer at Rimmers who suggested Paddocks, who in turn coughed up Totally Triumph, we would still be pissing in the wind grubbing around planet Triumph for decent components. “Don’t buy your new bits from me, I’m not selling you any, there’s nothing in it for me. I hate selling fuckin’ stuff; I would just rather work on cars, look at this”. Max rolled back a dust sheet to reveal a pristine GT6. that he had rebuilt to concours condition. He carefully and slowly lifted the bonnet to expose the gleaming straight six, polished auxiliaries, immaculately routed pipe work buttressed on either side by perfectly balanced suspension units. This was a picture, a labour of love, a craftsman’s work, the final example that turned a black day into the rosy sunset.

Paddocks will receive the bulk order for new parts; Max will supply anything he is prepared to let us have. Steve can, forever rot in the caustic bowels of the ‘fuck off bin’.              

October 2006

                                     Burlington Diary October 2006

 Mon.02.10.06. All the problems, delays and distractions of September must now be confined to history. The connections that have been forged over the past week should be pursued. Paddocks are in a position to provide most of the quality new stock, similarly Max must supply the ‘local’ knowledge together with the ‘used’, original, guaranteed parts. Colin has re-established his worth but his visits must be controlled, guardedly invited when he is able to deliver maximum input. Coordinating the work programme, as previous abandoned schedules have revealed, could potentially prove to be quite difficult, nevertheless the pursuit and achievement of which could successfully deliver the late October deadline or not. The team is enthusiastic, motivated and much happier. With all of the background work completed and the excitement of the ‘new build’ to look forward to, the mood in the camp is positive.

“America is playing poker whilst Iran plays chess”. This refers to a recent report regarding U.S. foreign policy in Iraq stating that the propaganda war is being won deservedly by the methodical, intellectual yet ruthless approach of Iran as opposed to random knee jerk aggressive, ostensibly woolly guesswork of the States. If only the two main protagonists in the Burlington battle could ‘sing from the same hymn sheet’, ‘pull together’, ‘stay focussed’, ‘apply simple, basic logic’ and ‘follow the script’ we may be triumphant, if not we are ‘all doomed’ and the project may go ‘tits up’, ‘belly down’ and ‘pear shaped’.                                                                                                 

Softly, softly, catchee monkey.

Over the weekend the return fold on the bonnet has been fashioned by Colin. This 2cm. strip matches exactly the upper face side of the engine panel to meet perfectly: forming the two edges that will be the main fastening points of the bonnet to the engine compartment of the car. The strip has been constructed from a length of angled metal, bonded to the bonnet with fibreglass then finished with filler. This has produced a seamless horizontal joint: another example of the craftsmanship of both Colin and Chris. The section of the transmission tunnel which will house the handbrake mechanism has also been completed. This has allowed an extra 6cms.of width to the rear of the cockpit proffering not only a tidy central handbrake console but also the possibility of fitting wider traditional sports car seats. The narrow nature of many inferior kitcar cockpit designs usually prevents ‘retro’, aesthetically pleasing seats, most builders commonly to resort to modern, bucket varieties that appear totally out of character with the rest of the car.

It was with a feeling of typical trepidation that I arrived with at Westmead. I had brought the two knackered 60’s Spitfire seats that I had bought from Max on Saturday. But mercifully, after placing them into the car the mood in the garage was lifted. They exactly filled the space in the cockpit; additionally they were able to travel to the closest point of the dashboard and to the furthest recess of the tub. A bonus came in the fact that the seats complemented the appearance and ambience of the vehicle. They looked as if they had been ‘made’ for the Burlington. This was the first genuine vision of how the cockpit area could be realised, naturally both Chris and I felt that, perhaps, we were actually approaching the home straight. Even the anti-roll bar and the ‘U’ bolt clamps acquired from Nutty Steve met with the seal of approval. I had eventually won one.

The momentum of the project should now gather pace. It is time for yet another ‘programme of work’. I shall discuss this idea with Chris tomorrow

Wonderful Max

Max emerged from his office. He was 6 foot six, of ruddy complexion with a patchy ginger beard, a south west accent with a touch of western ‘Aus’, grubby white string vest, folding rigger boots and patchy stained Levis. He was a ‘proper’ spanner man, opinionated with knowledge, backed up by 30 years in the business. He led me upstairs to the stores. There were row upon row of catalogued, efficiently arranged Triumph parts. He rummaged through a pile of 60’s seats, explaining on the way the background history of Triumph, their designs, development and eventual demise.

 “These seats may need to be slightly altered to fit your kit, but if you can’t do the simple ‘mod’ in the first place you shouldn’t be doing the job, no offence. I get so many wankers coming here for parts who haven’t got a fuckin’ clue what they are doing. I just say to ‘um if you don’t ‘listen and learn’ you might as well fuck off,” so I listened then bought a pair of seats and runners for £40.00. Blunt he was, but Max had the experience to support his abruptness. We chatted as we wandered around his impressive storerooms. Clean chassis’s stacked, road race wheels, a complete room with panels, bonnets, doors, boot lids, interiors, dashboards, engine, gearbox, suspension components, everything was available, easily accessible. There were no leaking roofs, oil stained dripping floors, disorder or mess. This was the real deal, the dog’s bollocks. A purveyor of quality parts. The list became filled, clocks were purchased for £10.00 and £5.00 respectively, twin SUs £70.00. Max could provide a stage two head for £300.00 and a re-con overdrive box was £500.00. He suggested that I bring all the relevant ‘shopping lists’ to his workshop, he would then be in a position to recommend the most effective approach; he would also be in a better position of understanding what we wanted to achieve. This seemed a sensible logical proposal being the most encouraging news that we have received for some time. If only we had known about Max back in February we would not have had such a roller coaster of a journey?

I hope that October brings better fortunes than September. It has been a difficult frustrating month.

Paddocks to the rescue

Sat.30.09.06. I had made an early start arriving at Triumph Nuts around 9.00am to find Steve half asleep, disorientated, definitely caught cold by my surprise visit.  

He suggested that I leave the half shafts so that we could ‘divvy up’ on Tuesday when I return to pick them up. Suspecting his reluctance to part with any cash I managed to squeeze a couple of ‘U’ bolts plus an anti-roll bar for £12.00, as security against my missing £50.00. Luckily, I remembered that we could do with a Mk1V prop shaft if the overdrive gearbox is fitted. The flange at the gearbox end of the prop must be changed. The main output shaft of the 1360 gearbox has a square type Hardy Spicer. The overdrive flange of the Mk1V Spitfire is a much larger rounded unit, which obviously must match the prop. This is not, as such, a predicament, having moved the engine further back the prop must be shortened and balanced to accommodate this alteration; the extra work of welding a new flange is minimal. Steve had earlier agreed to donate the correct Hardy Spicer because without it the box is useless, he is also, as a result down £250.00: I don’t think even for brainless Steve it was such a difficult decision to make.   

More importantly, I had made a tentative Saturday morning rendezvous with Max of Totally Triumph who was situated only 10 minutes away from ‘Nutty’ at High Lea on the Macclesfield road. I had been given detailed directions by Max but as expected became lost in the many petite country roads of the area. 

After several calls for directions I found myself trundling up a farm track to Max’s base. Initially the yard with the outlying barn areas looked promising with up to 20 cars neatly arranged in a semi-circular formation bordering the main workshop and store area. This was undeniably the most ordered, tidy, business like environment that I had discovered throughout this Triumph adventure, nirvana perhaps? I groped nervously for my list: I was still quite excited by the extensive store areas, the half decent cars on ‘proper’ ramps and the ‘real’ spray booth. A new list had to be compiled in the Oak the night before as I had lost the earlier version. Jo was the scribe as Chris dictated and I chipped in with what I could remember from the original.

·        1963 Spitfire bucket seats and runners. Don’t get the seats if there are no runners!

·        Steering rack ‘U’ bolt clamps. Make sure that they are 40 years old English quality!

·        Rev counter, oil pressure, water temperature, amps and volt metre clocks.  

·        LHD. wiring loom for an overdrive box. Spitfire Mk1V, with the overdrive on the gear lever.

·        Electronic rev counter or manual depending upon changing the dizzy. Cable rev counter compatibility?

·        Twin one and half inch SU’s; cylinder head valve size rubber sheaths?

·        Cam shaft re-profiled with spigot locating flange tensioner.

·        Anti-roll bar nose ring clamp mounting with black bush link grommet.

·        Stub axle vertical self lubricating silicone ‘o’ ring with shield connection, female.

·        Wishbone multifunctional strut cap bush bearing with brass tongue rivet, left hand.

At this point Jo became a touch suspicious of grommets, spigots but in particular a black bush, flatly refusing to add anything else to the list; the ‘slip ringpiece insulating escutcheon locking braided fishnet hose cover’ was not included.     

Dick the anomally

Fri.29.09.06. Colin has been building the adjustable mechanism for the hand brake. He has cleverly welded two rectangular 15cms x 10cms mild steel sections to form the main cradle. By spanning the box a threaded bar enables the arm of the handbrake to travel both left and right until a comfortable operating position has been achieved which secured by two locking nuts. The ratchet is able to rise evenly notch-by-notch until the maximum height is reached. The unit has been centrally located being fixed firmly to the transmission tunnel by four bolts. It is a practical, efficient, direct conversion that ‘tidies’ the original clumsy design.

During late morning Dick arrived for a chat but was quickly co-opted into the team. Colin had not met Dick before being at first, impressed with his wealth of experience and knowledge, particularly his unconventional solutions to mechanical snags. The method proposed by Dick to remove the pistons from the reclaimed callipers certainly made Colin sit up. By attaching both calliper grease nipples to one calliper then tightening thus closing one, grease could be pumped into the cavity via the other resulting in the pistons being forced out. But if, as was the case, the grease gun was empty, then, as the canny Dick further suggested “Go in’t kitchen, nick the wife’s block of lard, and use that instead.” Great idea, but as Chris pointed out “I’ll have you know, there has never been lard in this house!” Dick kept Colin completely bemused for at least one hour with many more ‘useful tips around the garage’, but like others before him Colin had been well and truly ‘Dicked’ eventually retiring blindfolded to a darkened room to recite his mantra.

Jigsaw racing have faxed their quote for the upgraded engine rebuild but the prices are bordering on outrageous. The cleaning, polishing and grinding, the new valves, seats and cam followers for the head are £400.00. The twin one and a half inch SUs are £350.00. The four-branch manifold together with the stainless steel exhaust would be £450.00. The total upgrade raising the BHP to 85 would cost in excess of £1500.00. The Avo front shocks come in at £145.00 for the adjustable platforms whilst the rear shocks are £115.00, everything on the quote was foolishly expensive, indisputably offensive and extremely unappetising, so into the fuck off bin they go.

Max at Totally Triumph could still be a viable option. He speaks plainly but really knows his stuff. I have written a shopping list, which I shall take tomorrow when I also make a surprise visit to Nutty Steve, who coincidentally operates just down the road. It’s touch and go whether or not I shall retrieve my £50.00 but if nothing else I must take our rear halfshafts, which Steve has promised to split, after which I shall barter for an anti roll bar plus a set of “U” bolts clamps which secure the steering rack. I would guess at this stage that I am only likely to return with ‘kind’ and not ‘folding money’.