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.
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