Paul Scholes

Fri.31.07.08. On Monday Colin made the final adjustments to the scuttle/dash board brackets by fabricating triangular segments located at both end sections. The steering column has been re-located by 8mm to the left and raised by a further 5mm from the original position. This has resulted in the dashboard I have been working on becoming obsolete: this outcome is becoming increasingly repetitive. The hole that had been cut to accommodate the column is now incorrectly located. Also, the scale of the console, when attached to the dash, seems now to be incongruous, it appears ‘over-large’ almost clumsy in comparison. For the past three days I have been in pursuit of a balance between the ‘new’ juxtaposed to the ‘retro’. More so, I have basically had enough of the ‘shifting goal posts’ usually instigated in my absence, and so whilst Chris is away this weekend on Roberts ‘stag do’ I shall sneak up to the garage, work on site to finish all the panels for the cockpit. The dash, console, handbrake cover, side panels, ‘the whole nine yards’; I shall attempt to re-discover the pre-summer minimalist design. Fuck ‘em.   

By Sunday I had completed all the basic construction of all of the panels. I have been able to visit Westmead to make minor alterations, which were later re-worked in my cellar. There has been a good deal of cutting, filling and sanding but the simplistic bare arrangement is a distinct improvement: this will be the ‘definitive’ design. As a seemingly unrelated coincidence whilst watching the football this weekend I began to admire the long career of Paul Scholes of Manchester United: the often-unsung midfield ‘ginga’ who possesses the combined football talents of Nobby Styles as well as Alan Ball. Paul Scholes, the worm gatherer, so called because during the world cup under Glen Hoddle, he preferred to quietly stroll aimlessly around the cultured grounds of the team hotel, with his head constantly bowed to the floor completely absorbed, steeped in his own reverent thoughts, instead of playing several rounds of golf, foolishly entrapped within the Gazzer posse ‘getting pissed’ and shagging countless groupies. He is the ultimate professional footballer; a very rare breed. He has stayed with one club all his playing career, he has had the same haircut for 15 years, he still lives in Manchester, is married to the same girl, shuns any sort of promotional and marketing shit, has sensibly stopped playing for an underachieving England side, does not have the usual silly nickname like Keano, Giggsy, Butty or Becks and he still wears black football boots. A simple lad who just gets on with the job: a little like my pompous self.

August is over and with only September to complete the car; given road trials and a visit from the DVLA, the timeframe is tight