Richie's bobbin sander

Weds.10.10.07. I have been working with Richie to fine-tune the contoured shoulders and cavities in the dashboard blank but also, cut another undertrim. The bobbin sander was effectively applied to the gauge holes, likewise the steering column ‘U’ cut and the space for the timepiece, all of which required some enlargement. Before the reinforced back plate can be permanently glued to the dash it will be necessary to dissect the Jaguar control panel, which was purchased at Stoneleigh in May 2007, in order to verify that the original switch configuration is compatible to the proposed design. The location and mounting of each switch is critical to the overall dash assembly. The switches are secured to a central plate but individual mechanisms have quite different diameters requiring subsequent build procedures. The previously drawn out shapes for the trim were cut on the band saw. The 15mm plywood still forms the base but a strip of Maple now caps the laminated unit. 

Once shaped the option of ‘finish’ can be finally decided, whether it be, natural, stained to replicate leather or the colour of the steering wheel or simply trimmed with leather.

Afternoon phone calls to John to confirm the order for the paint materials, Reg Caldwell who has not yet received the windscreen, due to the postal strike(my arse) and ‘Distant, Strange Michael’ who claims to be ‘on with the job’ concluded a fruitful day. I wonder what Chris has done?

But, annoyingly, down in the Oak, after the inquest about the inconsistency of the recent beers, Philip Santus grabbed the opportunity to sneer condescendingly after I had proudly showed him the sample paint colour that John had brought into the pub, then, perhaps foolishly, boldly informed him the car was going to the ‘painter’ tomorrow. Philip naturally responded by gloating, “You don’t expect the car to be finished for the Beaujolais run, do you? No chance!” Mumbling I returned with “Oh yes it will,” as per usual, I spinelessly, retreated back from giving the arrogant dim bastard a forceful tongue lashing. Flooding back in an instant came all the reasons why the car would not be finished; which actually in part is a result of his, annual, invitation only, back slapping sycophantic Anglo Scottish, mutual admiration society, dipped generously in droning, slippery, repetitively, patronising, humourless Celtic banter, drippy fuckin’ trip to Keswick, which happened, ‘unluckily’ to correspond to the third Thursday in November.

I feel quite justified, at every turn, to blaggard the chinless turd: because systematically, he has thieved any intention Chris, perhaps, had even dreamed of to enjoy the delights of driving through the French countryside in the vehicle that he has painstakingly built over the past two years by dangling the annual Keswick bonding loyalty card comfortably in his face, thus giving my mentor and master a gilt edged opportunity to slow the project down discovering new, facile excuses not to complete. The worst aspect of all of this, even though I meekly contradicted his smug prediction, the tosser is right.