Pedal problems

Mon.29.10.07. Over the weekend the under frame has been fastened on the tub allowing the boot box to slide into position effortlessly. On Sunday the inner skin was inserted, thankfully, that should complete the assembly. All that remains is for the untidy edges to be glassed then painted before the tub is placed onto the chassis. The aluminium panels that will form the lining of the engine bay have been tested, in the case of the battery box, actually assembled. 

Monday saw the return of Colin to the workshop. Both he and Chris have had a very productive day. The extra exhaust brackets have been welded to the mid area of the chassis, as have the supporting rear legs that hold the boot inside edge to the main box section. The access aperture to the slave cylinder has been widened sufficiently to allow the replacement of the component if necessary or, more essentially, regular ‘bleeding’ maintenance. 

The accelerator pedal has been extended to permit the cable to be attached in a better operational position the handbrake mechanism has been shifted forward in the tunnel to accommodate the additional length of cable, but also to create a more natural lifting movement. The radiator brackets have also been extended to facilitate a taller deeper core. But, because of the preparation that Chris has undertaken before the visit of Colin all of these vital tasks have been achieved comfortably: all need completion, but the crucial, substantial, technical groundwork is in place ready for Chris to ‘fine tune’ over the next few days.

I have returned today from London after seeing our beautiful grandson. He is an impeccably formed infant with sparkling alert eyes, a wonderfully healthy colour perfectly proportioned. Gemma and Paul are naturally delighted, excitedly planning his future but enjoying the present.

Knicky, Knacky, Knocker

Down at the Oak it was a lively night that reinforced all the reasons why we love the place so much. The assembled crowd included Lewis, Knocker, David, Rembrandt, Andrew, Salty, the Doc, Chris, of course, Emma and Dan, her new boyfriend (it won’t last) and Jimmy the Axe. The main topic of conversation was proud Knocker’s recent acquisition of an ‘apartment’ on Wigan Lane at the brand new ‘Manor House’ development.

The gathered attentive group had something to say about Knocker’s grand ideas

·      Does he need a passport to move from Whelley to WN1?

·      His reservoir view is below the water line.

·      He is located on the ground floor but he still uses the lift, because it is there.

·      He has Tim Hiltons mother and father next door.

·      A course of electrocution lesson and a new wardrobe is vital.

·      He must get rid of his whippets, ferrets and budgie.

·      It is a ‘chick magnet’ but he must insist that he owns all the property boldly claiming that his staff occupies the remainder of the building.

·      He’ll need to park his works van outside the compound, as they don’t allow trade vehicles an overnight stay within the grounds of the complex.

·      The flat was originally one of Lewis’s property mistakes, and as there is such a obscene glut of apartment buildings in the area the price can only go down.

·      To celebrate his newfound class status everyone clubbed together to buy him a disgustingly brightly coloured cocktail, complete with umbrella.

·      His 40-inch plasma TV occupies all the space on one wall balanced evenly on the opposite wall by a CD station. As he can touch both sides of the wall with his arms are outstretched he is able to control both appliances simultaneously.

·      He has a dishwasher but no washing machine because his staff ‘do’ all his washing.

·      Hurry! Only one last plot remaining.

Sam is born

Fri.26.10.07. We learned today at 5.38am our treasured daughter attended by terrific son in law, Paul has given birth to a 9lbs 6oz baby boy. Everything is fine although the length of the birth meant that there had to be a ‘C’ section. The proposed name is Samuel Joseph.

An early call from Chris informing me that both David and Andrew were available to move the painted tub from Nigel’s paint shop to Westmead was the first piece of good news of the day. We met at 11.30 to transport the tub. I was slightly nervous because Chris had never seen the painted outcome before, sensibly I expected the usual amount of criticism about the quality of craftsmanship; but this was not to be, Chris was very impressed with the result. “Listen, listen, I’ll tell you what, the lad can paint, he knows his stuff doesn’t he!” The paint was deep and rich, pretty much flawless, there had been one tiny stress fracture where the engine panel had joined the tub but Nigel confidently assured us that the problem could be solved quite easily after the car had been built up. With a person on either corner we gingerly lifted the body section into the van. Similarly, at Westmead, we carefully transferred it onto the waiting trestles that were lying parallel with the running gear. 

At this moment we could clearly see the inherent possibilities of the completed vehicle. A striking, brightly polished chunk of engineering sitting adjacent to the equally astonishing, curving lines of the tub rekindled the latent potential of the finished article.

I left Chris drooling over our latest acquisition as I was despatched to Savoy Timbers to have the plywood cut for the under frame of the boot space; but with one last instruction resounding in my ear, “Make sure you get Richie to cut it properly!” As was expected, when I arrived at Savoy, I was automatically greeted by several verses of ‘lights on the dashboard’ followed by ‘eh up’ Meat’s back. This collar would hide the original clumsily hacked rectangle under the rear quarter that was formally the location of the petrol tank. This space would now accommodate the newly made boot box but before installation the rough edges needed to be tidied.

This task was accomplished by a custom made frame to hide the coarse edges. Once in position it will be fibre glassed to improve strength and appearance.

I also used the opportunity to leave some more samples of wood at Richies for some extra experimental dashboard colourways. In a nearby unit were the offices of ADM a printing company run by Matt Johnson, they had volunteered to produce the ‘Polo shirts’ for the ‘Beaujolais run’. The shirts certainly looked the part in olive green set off by gold embroidery. One last stop took me to Brabbin and Rudd for 6 stainless steel nuts and bolts to hold the windscreen brackets to the scuttle top. Finally, in my cellar, with all the errands complete, I fashioned the plywood collar clearly claiming that, “I had to really twist Richies arm, cajole and persuade him to leave his own work to cut the piece professionally.”

A later test at the workshop proved that Richie had made a super job of the frame as it fitted perfectly, but he would need to remove the corners on the front edge to avoid the attaching brackets on the chassis. Bugger me; I shall have to myther him again tomorrow.   

The bits are coming together

Thurs.25.10.07.It is becoming difficult to assess the speed at which we are moving forward with the construction of the Burlington. Handling a successful collation of components, that actually fits the car, is a revelation, it is a sheer pleasure to assemble and build the definitive model. On a personal note by the afternoon the day improved further. The newly glassed windscreen, from Reg Caldwell was available for collection at a knock down price of £50.00; originally he had quoted £85.00. The windscreen rubber seal from John at Life’s Motors for £14.98 and two fan belts from Mick at Wallgate Motor Factors for £6.96 were the other items to harvest. Chris gratefully accepted another bag full of toys to play with showing his appreciation by immediately salivating at the prospect of fitting them to the car. It seemed that all the gruelling, disappointing months at last had past. All the experimental developments, in the main, had eventually and victoriously come to fruition. The engineering on the whole drive train twinkled impressively under the florescent tubes of the workshop. The endless modifications abundant throughout the project have exposed numerous practical difficulties but have subversively reinforced the identity, personality and character of the Burlington. The ‘car’ is not merely a collection of manufactured components but the full spectrum of social interaction and growth, occasionally fuelled by Stella Artois, fortified by pure graft but uniformly comforted by banter.

There have been many occasions when I recalled an article that I had read in the Sunday Sport that reminded me so much of the journey.

Frivolously titled. “Stochastic behaviour in a deterministic system” is a scientific phrase of cause and effect. What it means is every particle in the earth’s atmosphere is linked in a chain of cause and effect so intricate that it is extremely hard to make accurate predictions about the behaviour of the system as a whole. The weather forecast for tomorrow may be reasonably accurate. But the weather forecast for the following week will be much less so. And every now and then an apparent random whirlwind will catch the weatherman out as happened in the ‘hurricane’ of 1987. This hypothesis is principally related to the economies of the world, particularly the connection between the American economies to that of the Chinese. This was evident in particular last week where the ‘butterfly’ in this case was manifested by the fledgling Shanghai stock market. A mere winged bug compared with those of the New York and London. But when the Chinese investors flapped on Tuesday, driving down the Shanghai composite index by nearly 9%, the result was a storm, if not a 1987 style hurricane, in nearly all of the world’s markets. 

In one day 500 points was wiped off the Dow Jones whilst London plummeted by 150 on the FTSE index. In other words a slight hiccup can create such a ripple effect causing major complications many thousands of miles from the source of the original problem.  

This theory has been mirrored in the many modifications to the Burlington. For months we have striven to improve the quality of the finished product, but unknowingly by bettering one aspect of the car we have directly or indirectly affected many other aspects of the vehicle. One example of this was the decision to move the engine back 8 inches. This alone has resulted in the chassis being cut, the standard manifold and exhaust system altered, the overdrive gearbox having to be re-sited with the prop shaft flange re-fashioned. The front suspension has become further exposed with little weight above the dampers the coil springs need to be shorter, in free length, and softer in strength. The ride height, the cast and camber, the increased sensitivity of the steering and the location of the ancillaries; principally the radiator, have all become our “stochastic behaviour in a deterministic system”. 

But at least for the Burlington project we can control the weather together with the supply and demand of money. It is Chris and I who will determine the eventual triumphant outcome, not Rimmers, the Sheep Dip brothers, Nutty, deceitful Steve, inferior after market components and even the ‘Doubting Thomas’s’ in the Roy Castle corner. 

By the way, we have also heard that at 3.00pm today Gemma has gone into labour.

The pleasure of nuts and bolts

Weds.24.10.07. This has been a collection day of massive proportions. I have been over to Paddocks to gather all the hoses, gaskets, brackets and cables. Then, returning to Wigan placing an order for the missing fan belt from Bill at Ledsons, that John, inexplicably, could not supply. A visit to B and Q to view their carpet offerings proved fruitless as did Fishers and Queen Street carpets. Lastly, the final stop at Brabbin and Rudd, for the ultimate nut and bolt orgy, is always a pleasure. The company has an honest age; bottomless stockpiles of supremely engineered items, knowledgeable professional staff and, equally importantly, tradesmen customers who speak the same language. “I need quite a bit of stuff, lad, 120xM8 M/G galvanised countersunk washers, 4x 5/16 UNF 1.x1.5 HT brass setscrews, 12x M10 Hex Full nut Z-Ps chromed, 2x M12 type P milled nyloc nut Z-Ps, 2x M12x 150 Z-P HT bolts stainless, 12x 5/16 UNF type P domed nyloc nut Z-Ps, 36x M8 ZP HT slotted setscrews, steel, 2x M12type P flathead nyloc nut Z-Ps and 2x 60 copper cup pozi SQ Hex-ZPs, all manufactured to standard DIN603/001, can you manage that?” no probs, was the brief reply.  Returning home I have managed to make a few calls, spray another coat over the boot box and inner skin, re-fin the undertrim before I gathered then labelled all my swag, removed the brush from up my arse making ready for delivery to Westmead.

Another Christmas had arrived for Chris as he eagerly poured through the bulging plastic sacks that were crammed with all the goodies usually found in a Cadburys chocolate selection box. But would all or any of these components actually fit the car? Luckily, the hoses slipped comfortably over the vacuum pipes, the gaskets hugged the equivalent portals, the endless variety of nuts, bolts washers sparkled on the floor where they had been excitedly tipped, the world was a happy place. Many of these parts were the missing pieces to the puzzle, the solutions for the unfinished, flawless brand new couplings, the icing on the cake.

Back on Track?

Mon.22.10.07. After returning from Burgundy I immediately received a call from Nigel. He has finished the painting the body tub, so later in the day I managed to visit his workshop to inspect the results. As far as my untrained eye tells me the dark green paint gleams intensely displaying a visibly rich depth of colour. Potentially the tub can be moved back to Westmead tomorrow either using David’s curtain sided van or the recovery flatback truck of Prospect Motors. Chris, over the past week has compiled the definitive list of parts. Woolies, meanwhile have sent the samples we requested, mostly of which will be suitable for the jobs in hand.

Tues.23.10.07. It has been a day of catching up with suppliers confirming a variety of orders. Earlier in the morning I checked on the progress of the seats. Michael proudly produced both sections padded and stitched up. Having verified the final order for Paddocks John had already started to assemble the bulk of the parts preparing for collection tomorrow.

·      A new reduced rear brake cable

·      A steering column earth strap. Num. 110461

·      A clutch return spring. Num. 114438.

·      2 oil filters for a 13/60

·      A voltage stabiliser for the speedometer clock.

·      The top and bottom hose and clips.

·      A flasher unit 3 pin.

·      12 brake pipe single connector

·      4 brake pipe double connectors

·      4 petrol pipe clips.

·      A stainless Steel carburettor heat shield.

·      An inlet manifold nut and washer.

·      2x headlamp 3 way connector cable.

·      2x thermostat housing and outlet hoses.

·      2x vacuum pipes.

There are also a number of various sizes of nuts and bolts from Brabbin and Rudd: these are principally for the final build. The Woolies order has also been provisionally amassed, and shall be validated tomorrow.

·      5mts. of 88, 8cm x 3mm rubber strips for the tub to chassis cushion.

·      10mts. of 305, edging strip

·      5mts of 300, 3mm x 2mm edging strip.

·      4 x bonnet catch of 209, chrome on brass 10mm spring loaded lift.

·      2 x bonnet protector triangles, 111, rubber triangles.

    Samples that will be requested to solve the problem around the 15/ 18 mm cockpit area.

·      Sample SRS 8 and SRS 4 on page17, neoprene.

·      Sample, 264, 266, page 4.

Sample, 311 stainless bead flexible channel 16mm. 

Burgundy 5

·     Mon.22.10.07. The final hurdle now faced us of how best to return the car without incurring a monstrous excess on the damage that had not really been ‘fixed’ but had been ‘bodged’ by ‘Tivoli’. I returned the vehicle bulging with ‘essence’ to the ‘Europe car’ bay. I was immediately greeted by ‘inspection’ man. After a quick look around, he past the car as fit: no bonus for him this Christmas. Checking in for the flight was a breeze shortly after, for the first time, when we were up in the air,  bound for Liverpool, I was at my most happy. The problems, even though we have faced up to them, have made what should have been a thoroughly wonderful trip into an ordeal testing both our wills.

   

Burgundy 4

·      Sat.20.10.07. The Toulouse sausages that had replaced the planned dinner were the ideal comfort food we both desired. We were driven on by the responsibility of payback to Dave. We had stayed in his house all week, genuinely needing shelter, requiring support. It was now time for all the tasks that we had promised to fulfil; namely painting walls, ceilings and radiators. Jobs that we would normally have battered in three days we were faced with only today to deliver.

9.00am. As we continued our labours the poor workmanship from dodgy builders surfaced at every turn. Undoing the tat proved endless but if nothing else it is a ‘lesson for the future’, do not employ crap builders.

10.00am. A visit to ‘Groupama’ to sort out house insurance gave me another opportunity to explain my face. The fluid from the initial bang had now settled above my eye where it grown into a giant bubble effortlessly producing sticky creamy liquid progressively closing off any remaining vision.

4.00pm. Several coats of white paint have not produced any sort of finish on the sejour wall, the bathroom is ‘ok’, the radiators needed 4 cans of aerosol and the kitchen casing has been rubbed down. But, whilst packing away the tools I managed to crack my head on the lintel of the ‘cave’. Wobberly legs a small bleeding cut was the end result, fresh blood, big lump, is my luck ever going to change?

5.30pm.We had arranged to meet Brigitte at the barn to gather more photographic evidence for the prospective conversion. But again lack of enthusiasm meant that we could only muster the half-hearted shot in addition to an equally uninspired inspection of the rooms. But, I did accomplish yet another blow to my battered bruised head by cleverly walking into the casing of the stable door. Surely there can be nothing else that I can damage on my crusty pate. Cuts are being stacked in equal quantities upon swollen bruises. The warmth from the log stove in Brigitte’s home at least gave us a sample of what we could accomplish in St. Martin. The freshly brewed coffee, the light fruity English cake was also a very comforting thoughtful welcome.

  

   10.00pm. Coquille, Lamb chop, Chou fleur, Lyonnais potatoes, but still no fizz.

·      Sun.21.10.07. We have decided to leave for Annecy this lunchtime to facilitate a comfortable exit from Geneva airport the following morning.

9.00am. The house needs to be cleaned, brushed and mopped together with the last remaining tools returned to the ‘cave’. The paint has dried much better than we had expected but the disappointment of not fulfilling the entire obligation has been yet another disappointing set back.

2.00pm. One last visit to the barn lifted our spirits a little, we finally managed a degree of subdued enthusiasm. We left with a determination to resurrect our enjoyment of the landscape as we set off for Annecy. Pragmatic logic still remains the main focus. The endless obstacles that the week has thrown up have controlled our every thought.

6.00pm. The huge sprawl of Annecy was less than inviting so we found the sanitised ‘Hotel Savoie’ in St. Julien on the border of France and Switzerland. It has now become a habit that after asking a question whether it be for a room or to reserve a table I feel a burning obligation to explain the state of my face. “I was cutting down the vine when I tumbled from the ladder, routine”. The saving grace for the hotel was the huge deep bath which I wallowed around to ease the aches and pains of my self inflicted wounds. A simple but hearty meal of Bass and Milanese veal at the nearby ‘Bistro Locomotive’ was washed down with two carafes of Haut Savoie plus an extra bottle of pays de Burgoyne. The meal was accompanied by the ‘best’ roasted mini spuds with a side dish of compote of juicy garlic buttery spinach.

Burgundy 3

·      Weds.17.10.07. By 9.00am we were sat in the office of Strategie immobilier in Buxy waiting for Olivier to arrive in the hope that he could unravel the mess.

At 9.30 am. Olivier was able to contact M. Verrier but he still insisted that he must have physical evidence of the money being ‘clean’ before he can allow the funds to be released. “There is no point in your clients travelling to Tarascon without a valid statement or the relevant documentation that will verify the origin of these funds.” I, in the meantime attempted to urge the Nat West to assist, by any possible means, perhaps by sending the ‘fax’ requesting a simple factual statement. Typically, their office only opened at 10.30am French time, we began to sweat. Whilst killing time I suddenly thought that Dave Green, our friend and accountant, could construct a similar endorsement to satisfy the Caisse d’Epargne. Dave was more than willing to assist by drafting a suitably financially supportive letter.

10.30am. Olivier re-contacted M.Verrier who had since received the statement from Dave. He instantly agreed to release the funds but we still had to appear in person to prove our ID.

3.30pm. Jo and I had arrived in the bank where the reception was very warm, the transaction far too simple for the trouble it had caused, we walked out with 87,480 euros in the form of a banker’s cheque to purchase the barn in St. Martin. It had been too easy. The complications of the passed three days evaporated. The only problem that remained was the possibility of having the car repaired at the local garage, ‘Tivoli’, to disguise the damage caused earlier.

4.00pm. Jean Paul guaranteed that the repair would be completed by 6.30 for a nominal fee of 150 euros, on Thursday evening. Our luck was definitely changing.

5.00pm. Jo and I sat on the terrace at 9, Marie de Lolly soaking in the late afternoon sun sipping the first of many vodka tonics. The five minutes spent in the bank had changed our mood totally: having swore, on the drive down, not to confuse the issues with alcohol we had rapidly succumbed to the comfort of the glass.

·      Thurs.18.10.07. The date for the ‘Signe de vente’ had been changed from this afternoon to 4.00pm on Friday, not so much because of our problem but because of the exchange of land that had to be processed by M. Gerbeau before the transaction could be completed. This delay of one day obviously suited our present predicament as we spent a fruitful day in the courtyard of our house trimming the garden, cutting down and re-potting the vine but reluctantly spent equally as many hours stripping and cleaning our much abused 8 burner cooker. The tenants indulge in a regular habit of ritualistic cremation of any animal matter. The result is a charred worn out oven that is always someone else’s job to clean. This beautiful appliance has suffered a number of catastrophic culinary ‘blitzkriegs’ over five years, especially from ‘Hun Kirsty’ and ‘Toad of the road’ Jeremy who had, over the summer of 2004, successfully kidnapped every visitor stuffing each of their victims with English sausages, chips, bacon and smiley faces all of had been ceremonially reduced to ashes in the oven, filling the kitchen with black carcinogenic smoke generated from baked on burnt animal fats much of which had evolved from their previous cooking exploits.

4.00pm. After a very satisfactory clean up we happily walked around to ‘Tivoli’ to check the progress of the car. The repair had been completed, ahead of schedule encouraging the prospect of perhaps travelling up that evening instead of tomorrow? But, whilst inspecting the paint job I clumsily smeared the semi dry paint the section had to be re-painted. Smiling Jean Paul asked if I could collect the car in the morning at 8.00am instead of this evening. I agreed.

7.00pm. Ian and Pete came up to the apartment for drinks. This was originally planned as a meal but throughout the day we had regretted our drunken Wednesday eagerness changing the invitation to just merely drinks, ‘aperitivos’. Typically, an early evening light ‘swallie’ turned into a ‘session’ consuming little food but knocking back gallons of wine.

10.30pm. The guests had not long left when Jo and I began bringing in the outside furniture, putting away the kitchen utensils all in preparation for sealing the apartment until the next visit. Stupidly, in the dark, I managed to stumble over ‘something’ and found myself prostrate on the floor with Jo looking down inquiring as to what I had done. Clutching a cracked head, covered in blood badly bruised I slowly lumbered into the kitchen. A clump of paper towel kept most of the mess at bay, fifteen minutes later the flow had stopped. I went to bed.

·      Fri.19.10.07. We duly collected the car at 8.00am to make our way back to Burgundy, with my face swollen like a bashed crab.  

1.30pm. The first stop when we arrived in Buxy was a shopping fest in ‘Atac’

principally to buy ‘Mumm’ champagne for Olivier, Brigitte Magnin, the previous owner of our empty shell and lastly for Jo and I. Two bottles for the impending signature plus an extra one for the evening celebration. Pushing the culinary boat out scallops, lamb cutlets, chou fleur and crushed potatoes would accompany  ‘the fizz’, ‘Aligote de Burgundy premier cru plus the local ‘Mountagny de Buxy’.

4.00pm. The meeting with M. Gerbeau in his office in Blanzy was only rudely interrupted by ‘Maggie’, the interpreter who insisted upon pointless, humourless comments only sprinkled by opportunist moments when she crassly offered everyone her ‘card’ claiming she was a builder, translator, general fixer, lawyer, teacher, bank manager, mid-wife and exotic dancer. Dave and Julie have first hand experience of her together with her now ‘ex’ husband John; but that in itself is another story. I, meanwhile, had invented a cover story for the state of my face, which by now had scabbed over but was turning blue. “I had been cutting back my vine when foolishly overstretching I tumbled from the ladder.” I had by this time practised this fable on every person in the room until I began to believe it myself.

5.00pm. We left the office with an ancient set of keys for an empty barn, thanked and wished everyone well, returned directly to Rimond empty, utterly deflated. Neither felt any form of elation, passion or even interest in what we had just purchased. I have, in fact, felt more excitement buying a crusty loaf. The beautiful scenery was passing by unnoticed, the prospect of designing a stunning family home in a perfectly tranquille village, in possibly one of the most serene parts of the world meant nothing, rien, de nada, zip.

The sumptuous dinner was put on hold, the champagne remained in the fridge. Maybe tomorrow we shall feel differently?

Burgundy 2

·      Tues.16.10.07. I woke up to the worst possible hangover in the world, relentlessly re-occurring, perpetual dark reminders from the previous night. Even with the gloriously groomed undulating landscape interspersed with relaxing picturesque comfort stops I still revisited the unremitting desolate flashbacks throughout the remainder of what turned out to be a dreadful day.

10.00 am. A visit to the Caisse d’Epargne in Buxy revealed it was impossible to draw a ‘Cheque du Banque’ from Tarascon for the purchase of the house. Although the same company each regional bank operates ‘independently’. Located in a different ‘department’ of France, the bank was therefore unable to offer reciprocal services.

12.00pm.The next step was to travel to the office of M. Jeantin in Blanzy to contact M. Gerbeau, the ‘notaire’who will actually conduct the ‘signe de vente’. It was through his office that the money should have been primarily transferred, so it seemed appropriate he could request a direct transfer from Tarascon. We were to return at 2.00pm so that these requests could be initiated.

2.00pm. After a pleasant lunch in Mont St.Vincent, poached egg, bacon salad, fried cod and coffee we returned to his office in an attempt to contact ‘Caisse-epargne’ immediately. Frustratingly, this proved difficult, a combination of irrelevant telephone numbers and incorrect fax’ numbers delayed the process for 60 minutes. Finally a ‘fax’ was accepted but not immediately processed.

4.00pm. Monsieur Gerbeau informed us of the bad news that the ‘bureaucracy’ in Tarascon had refused the request on the grounds of requiring proof positive regarding the provenance of the funds. They also demand that Jo and I must attend the bank in person producing suitable ID to permit the transaction. We are to contact a M. Verrier the manager responsible for our account. This is potentially disastrous, my hangover kicks in again at the appalling thought of ‘my own bank’ holding our funds until we are able to produce evidence from England. Considering that these funds had been hauled in from six different accounts over a two-month period the prospect of retrieving ‘evidence’ was daunting.

4.30pm. Luckily, I had retained Sandra Dermott’s number at the Wigan branch of the Nat West, after pleading with her to access the relevant details she promised to inform the headquarters in Bolton who have stored the electronic records of the cheques I placed with the bank in August. She would, as soon as possible, wire these details to M. Verrier in Tarascon. I didn’t hold out much hope of that happening, which filled us with even more doubts: the situation was going from bad to worse.

4.45pm. But, if circumstances couldn’t get any worse, whilst driving back through Buxy, a coach forced me into a raised pavement seriously creasing the sill of the, under insured, hire car. I would not get off lightly with the accident; the Swiss justifiably have a fearsome reputation of inscrutable correctness. Visions of a huge excess payment flooded my thoughts.

5.30pm. Back at Rimond contemplating the dreadful chain of events the trip was turning into the biggest shit butty ever.

6.45pm. In an attempt to put some sort of rescue package together we composed a ‘fax’ to Sandra imploring her to write a statement claiming that we were responsible, honest people who have saved most of their lives carefully gathering this sort of money; we are not drug dealing skankies laundering ill gotten piles of brass all over Europe. The reality regrettably, was that, the mentality of the people in the Bouches de Rhone was one of stubbornness; they could be innately pedantic. M. Verrier was just that sort of petty marionette. The prospect of ‘our’ funds being frozen loomed ever closer.

Burgundy 1

Sun.14.10.07. As far as I am concerned the project will be on hold for a week because of our visit to Burgundy. I have tidied the cellar cautiously made yet another list of ‘things to do when I return’. I have also, dropped off the camera for Chris, who does intend to press on with reviving the chassis preparing the groundwork for when the tub returns from Nigel Penk. The work, so far, on the chassis is superb; the central box section is gleaming with fresh paint as are the suspension turrets and rear leaf spring. It will be a real shame to cover all of this wonderfully detailed engineering with the body tub and wings.
We return on 22.10.07. which is the day that Gemma is supposed to give birth. Oh ‘eck.

Mon.15.10.07./ 22.10.07.  The Trip to Burgundy.
It has been a curiously eventful week. Sometimes frustrating, irritatingly annoying, often disappointing, painfully foolish, unendingly depressing: it has been one of the very few occasions I have desperately craved to be home. Over the next 5 days I shall attempt to outline the misfortunes of this extraordinary week. Nothing much about the car, but more an insight into human nature.

·      Mon.15.10.07. The plane was delayed at Liverpool for three hours. We eventually arrived in Geneva at 6.30pm which meant a drive of two hours through the stunningly rugged, yet blank, bleak countryside of Switzerland, towards eastern Bresse then finally on to ‘Dave Green’s house at Rimond. A few miserable sandwiches later after the wine had dried up, I hit the Scotch, the forbidden fruit, which guaranteed that I suffered for most of the following day.

More fat bankers

 “We cannot send it if it does not have an Iban number, it is obligatory,” were, sadly, the very words that I did not want hear. I expressed my frustration, yet again; referring to their initial acceptance of the form only to now to question its validity.

“I shall explain, one last time the magnitude of this transaction. With this money I am buying a French property. This money must be in the lawyers account before I can purchase the house. I am leaving for France on Monday morning before this bank opens. I must complete this transaction immediately. As I understand it I cannot move the money after 4.00pm. It is now three minutes past! Do you really comprehend why I am very annoyed, totally confused, definitely jacked off!” 

“We cannot send it without the Iban number its’ obligatory!” was their ill-timed reply.

“If I gave you my Iban number is there still time today to complete?”

 “Yes sir.”

That was all I needed to hear, so after painful embarrassing, exchanges with the untrained monkeys on the front desk everything was going to be ‘champion’. Or was it? Of course not! The tap from the office window was Brenda who informed Carol that there had been ‘some sort of difficulty’ with the transfer. The Iban number had not been recognised.

Please, fuck me with the roughest, sharpest, knarled, infected, angry bramble bush from the Highlands of Scotland because it can’t be any more painful!

Carol timidly disappeared into the back room. Curiously, the other worthless cretins, who were the instigators of my troubles, slowly gathered outside the office to witness my ‘melt down’. Until I gazed up from my mantra, to shatter the silence of the bank, with, “Have you moronic useless numpties nothing better to do? Just go away and screw someone else’s life up!”

They, too, evaporated sheepishly into the flock wallpaper. An excruciating 30 minutes later Sandra returned with the excellent news that it was the original ‘notaires’ form had been rejected not mine. There is a God. Better news arrived later when she informed me that I would not suffer any charges, if I incur any French charges they would also be taken care of by Nat West. She then described how she would monitor the progress of the transaction, reassuringly stating that over the next few days it would be rigorously monitored.

I left the bank at 5.40pm a little happier.

The difficulties of my afternoon are nothing compared with the problems of the Doc. The Oak is sadly dieing: all week there has only been a meagre ‘turnout’, many regulars appear to have jumped ship in search of consistent beers, alternative more comfortable smoking pits. Even so, I have a strong determination to see it through, if nothing else, because of loyalty. Santus is weaving his undermining slimy propaganda of untruths; as a result people are becoming twitchy. Not me, or Jo, it is only bilge rats who leave the ship first. Everyone has enjoyed the warmth and sometimes craziness of the Oak, they should stand fast in days of adversity. These gutless turncoats should remember the community that the pub has engendered; true friends never slope away deviously somewhat cowardly. Why not support, enthuse, attempt to generate more business: give the Doc a lift, instead of bailing out. I am so glad that the Santus was not around in 1939.  

Fat bankers of Zurich

Fri.12.10.07. Earlier in the morning I contacted Louisa of ‘Woolies’ to request samples of trim that we need in order to ‘finish certain areas of the car’. Expecting a substantial order she kindly agreed to send all the examples we required.

·      Large black PVC edging 15mm x 12.5mm, top trim the edge of the cockpit

·      Miniature black PVC over rider 4.7 mm, for the aluminium panels in the engine bay.

·      Samples of 3 qualities and colours of carpet.

·      3mm rubber sheet to be used between the body tub and chassis. 

The windscreen rubber mounting which Louisa could not help us with is now being provided by Life’s Motors at an approximate cost of £14.25?

However, most of the morning had been taken up with the fine detail work on the undertrim. The lower contoured curve was once again produced by the router. On this occasion I extended the ends to allow the router to flow as far as the furthest point thus creating a full length profile. With a little more ‘filling’ on the back plate the unit was totally prepared for Richie to apply his bobbin sander to create perfect inner and outer console curves. The trim appears ‘daintier’ than previous models making the prospect of matching the unit to entire dash not inconceivable. Richie has also applied a range of stains and lacquer to an off cut, utilising tones of brown, red and green. The test has revealed some interesting results, in that; all the stains have hidden the grain removing much of the timbers natural charming quality, its basic attraction.

The bank fiasco of 12.10.07. We have had £64,000 in a reserve account set aside to pay for the purchase of the barn conversion in Burgundy. For the past three weeks we have delayed transferring the money across to France because the euro has been soaring, the rates that we have been offered have been paltry. We have now regrettably run out of time we must send the wedge this week. So, for most of this week we have been gauging the fortunes of the euro in an attempt to select the optimum time to dispatch the money. Because it is such a large amount we are in fact entitled to a higher rate of exchange, a commercial rate as opposed to tourist. When first applying an indication rate is offered, if this is suitable then the client, either accepts or rejects the proposal. This deal is completed whilst in direct contact with the dealer: that is how the system works! 

The bank details of the French ‘notaire’ had been posted three weeks previously. It is essential that he receives the entire amount, via an electronic order, prior to the sale of the barn. On Monday I had completed the ‘Compulsory International Bank Transfer’ including all the correct account details, ‘SWIFT’ numbers plus all the relevant contact addresses. Procedure dictates that the form must be presented to the bank to verify that all I had written was sufficient and accurate. Throughout the week several employees of the Nat West, Rachel, Tracy and Darren had proof read the document clearing the application. Everything was now in place, so that when I did choose an opportune moment to send the draft it would not be necessary to check the details therefore saving valuable time. The daily cut off point for this type of transaction is 4pm, so when I arrived in the bank at 2.40 I naturally assumed I had enough time to complete the procedure.

Darren requested my ID together with a relevant bankcard to initiate the transfer, but he was unable to do so because I had failed to include the ‘Iban’ code, which meant the transfer, could not be validated. I became somewhat agitated since during the week other employees had not spotted this problem. Each in turn repeated was that it was “my responsibility to include all the correct details,” but,

“You have told me all week that the information was correct!”

“It is not our responsibility; the client must include an IBAN code.”

“But on the form it says account number or Iban”.

“You have filled it in incorrectly.”

“Please, listen to me, you said it was okay, but regrettably you do not seem to be answering my question which is, why has it been ‘ok’ all week yet suddenly when it goes into the back room, to ‘Sandra’, it is not ok?”

By this time it was 3.10pm, I had been in the bank for 30 minutes. It appeared that they did not to realise that it was imperative that the form should be sent today or even grasp the importance of the transaction I naturally became quite annoyed. The alternative perhaps, obvious choice, was to send the money directly to my bank in France hoping that the ‘notaire’ would accept a cheque on the day. I hastily phoned Jo who could supply our details from past transfers; which she duly did. But, having considered all the issues we did, however, decide to risk the details provided by the ‘notaire’ for fear of jeopardising the contract. Darren by this time was hiding in the back room so, after some rude exchanges with Carol, who threatened to call security, as soon as she had removed the brush steel that was stuck right up her arse, also found something else to do. As a consequence, I beckoned ‘bright Julie’ from the front desk to submit the transfer. But, for insurance, I still completed an additional form in my name just in case everything went ‘tits up’. Julie returned to announce proudly that she had sent it.

 “You’ve already sent it! But I have not been offered a rate, that’s the way it works, don’t you know that! This is going from bad to worse, unfuckinbelievable!”

She scurried back to where she had come from, less pleased with both my terse response along with her foolish mistake, the triumphant smile wiped from her face. Finally at 3.58pm Sandra, the ‘transfer queen’ together with Andrea, the bank manager, immerged still defiantly defending their position. 

Ying and Yang

Thurs.11.10.07. I had bought the Jaguar central console from John Gordon, of ‘Jaguar Spares’, so in the morning I decided to give him a call regarding the four way light control that I had been unable to remove from the retaining plate. Happily he was able to suggest that I depress the plunger on the switch to effectively disengage the catch. A simple piece of information but the alternative of levering, yanking hammering, bish, bosh, bashing would at some time been my clumsy solution, no doubt damaging the unit beyond repair. But not now, not now that I am a craftsperson who can fashion dashboards, make boxes, apply glue and paper; finesse is my watchword. After the effortless removal of the troublesome switch I applied the same logic, recently learned technical skill to the remainder of the controls, labelling, cataloguing, bagging and storing as I went on. Realising that the steel retaining plate, once stripped, would provide the ideal template for the switch mounting unit I pondered whether or not I could incorporate, once modified, the ‘original’ within my design: a fantastic melange of materials, steel, ply, maple and leather, but it sounds much better as a boy band, ‘hard, flexible, gay with a touch of S and M’. Nonetheless, I had achieved mild success that could contentedly sustain me throughout the rest of the day.

David had arranged to rendevouz at Standish around 13.00hrs with the curtain sided truck that would transport all the body parts to Nigel at Penk Motors. With very little time to spare I rushed over to John’s for the paint, primer, setting agent and thinners. I also picked up a mini order for Chris of satin black aerosols, masking tape and 5 litres of thinners; with these materials he would clean off then revive the damaged chassis parts. We managed to load all the panels into the Transit, the tub being the most difficult, heavier than expected it proved to be a tight fit. It was a pleasant relief that Nigel appeared to impress Chris, particularly when he knew not to use ‘any old primer’ on the multi surfaced tub. The combination of alli, tete and wood requires an irregular type of primer, if the paint is to adhere properly and not react adversely. “He’ll be alright, he seems to know what he’s doing” was the response from Chris as we climbed back into the truck confident that we have found a ‘good’ painter: but, watch this space?

The day has been a milestone. Suddenly I am an experienced gifted artisan but more significantly the car has eventually been dispatched to the paint shop. ‘Things can only get better’; coincidentally, similarly claimed by Tony Blair in 1997.

To emphasise the sayings ‘that when one door opens another one closes’ or the theory of ‘yang and ying’ and perhaps more to the point, ‘one man’s porridge is another man’s croissante’, throughout the week Jo and I have been following the rise of the euro against the pound, which roughly translates into, less euros for more pounds or the pound is weak against the euro or when something did cost £61,000 it now costs £63,000. Either way, when choosing a moment to transfer 87,480 euros to purchase a derelict barn, on the top of a hill, in a tiny hamlet in Burgundy one needs a certain amount of good fortune on the money market. This afternoon at 4 pm we ran out of it. Gradually over the week the euro has crept up mercilessly until we were forced today to bite the bullet and accept a feeble rate. By the time I had reached the bank it was too late to process the transaction; we must now wait until tomorrow, when predictably the rate will be even worse. Bummer. I needed something to take my mind off losing £600.00 per day for the past three days so I retired gloomily to the cellar to continue my new found technical skills. But, because most of my vacuous mind packed to the brim with retarded brain cells was occupied by constant perpetual accusations of those fat money launderers from Singabastardpore, Banfuckinkok and especially those parasitic fuckers in Zurich I managed to snap the end off my latest model for the undertrim. So much so for my newly acquired expertise. Feng fuckin’ swee. 

Because of the race to finish but also being driven to ‘beat the banks’ I have expediently forgotten that Gemma is having her first child, quite possibly this week, how typically selfish and hollow it is that I have ranted on about deadlines linked to the euro exchange. The birth of a small child in all our lives is precious and a proper delight it supersedes any trivial problem that may upset our very ordinary daily routine. For every minor disappointment, needless tantrum, commonplace weakness, inadequate craftsmanship manifesting in unremitting frustration, everything pales into inconsequentiality compared with the prospect of pure, fresh new life. Gestalt.

Everything must be well, better than okay.