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.
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