Ferry Back

·     Sat.17.11.07. It was only about one hour and 15 minutes before we arrived at the docks in good time for the 11.15 ferry to Dover, for the first time the crossing from Calais to Dover was in Cockney Micks time frame. “Fackin’ ‘ell we set orf at qwartta paast eleven an’ we was in Dover for ‘arf paast. I done a twenty foa ‘our shift, was paid foateen graand an’ was back in Wigan by arf ‘free, done an Indian, rolled a ‘monsta’ an shagged mi neighba!” David Green had promised Kenny that he could buy the biggest ‘English’ on the boat even though it was flying French colours. He was proved right. For the first time in six days our school party had abandoned us for the pleasures of a cooked breakfast. Once off the boat we remained in convoy until Junction 11 on the M25 where Jo and I slipped off to visit to stay with Gemma, Paul and Sam to enjoy a great quiet day with our grandson. 

·      Sun.18.11.07. We all re-assembled in the Oak for the celebration of the two trips, Keswick and the Beaujolais. The party from the lakes had regrettably suffered from the installation of relatively new management in their usual hotel they were not, as a result, offered the same privileges as in the past. The rooms were more expensive than planned, their gala dinner had to be moved to 6.30, the first sitting of the evening, alas both breakfast and evening meals were collectively of a very poor standard. All in all, the entire trip was a bit of a damp squib seemingly disappointing at every turn. Such a shame. Luckily for us our trip was a great success, wonderful cultured villages, excellent food, clean comfortable hotels and a group of people who became stronger, very much together as the trip developed. After the Sunday darts match the ‘Doc’ had laid on the pop combo for the evening’s entertainment, ‘The Awkward Squad’ fronted by Jimmy the Axe, vocals and harmonica, guitars Carlos and Lewis, 'Alan the beat' on skins. We stayed much later than we should have but the reminiscing continued long after we had left. “Fackin’ ‘ell I done firteen pints o’ Stella, ‘frew ‘free 180’s, played lead fackin’ guitar betta than fackin’ Hendrix, knocked up a Thai, built a ‘biggun’, broke down the fackin’ back door an’ painted it white on the way awt, an’ still got paid firty fackin’ graand!” yeah.   

Cambrai, Le Mouton Blanc

·      Fri.16.11.07. The final leg of our journey would now take us north towards the coast. Facing a possible six hour drive, initially through the undulating landscape of northern Burgundy via Beaune, Dijon and Troyes but later over the flat plains of the Champagne region around Reims then onto the flat rolling plains of St. Quentin and Cambrai in Picardie, we set off at 10.30am. The bullshit regularly draining from Cockney Micks mouth had become the trip’s staple joke especially when we were about to undertake a sizeable journey, today was no exception. “Fackin’ ‘ell I’ll get to fackin’ Cambrai in too ‘ours, put in a shift of foateen ‘ours, pick up a cheque for five graand, open a bockle of the best red, knock up a Chinese, roll a big ‘un” ‘an be in bed at ‘arf past wiv some local trollop and still get up again at ‘free, ‘an drive annuvva foa ‘undrid K, yeah!”

The busy town of Cambrai had grown sizably since our last visit 20 years ago the scale felt daunting at first having spent the past five days travelling through rural France, but as the rush hour crowds dispersed along with the traffic we began to appreciate the civic pride of the imposing baroque Hotel de Ville, the manicured market square the quite huge ‘department’ railway station which I would suspect was the original reason that a town of such importance had developed exactly where it was. The Mouton Blanc was definitely undergoing a revival as the rooms had been scrubbed, re-designed boldly ‘made-over’. Our room in particular was of a ‘boutique nature’ with lavish richly decorated furnishings, purple wall hangings a sumptuous bath-shower wet room, known in France as an Italian brothel.

The sheer quality of the food on Thursday could not possibly be matched so the group decided that something cheap, cheerful known the world over as ‘junk’ would be more appropriate, we were not disappointed. Nostalgically reflecting that we had not had a bad meal throughout the trip now was the time for a change, a quick snack with the emphasis firmly on the liquid content as opposed to solid nourishment. I had earlier spotted an attractive bistro-bar around the town square having striking leaded lights on the frontage giving it an appeal of age and history. Unfortunately, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The recent refurb had been for a ubiquitous Irish bar with clichéd symbols of Ireland festooning the interior. We were met by an over excited typically rude waiter who couldn’t wait to get us seated thrusting a menu in our faces before we had even sat down. The evening went from bad to worse as he ignored the requests for drinks becoming very impatient when we couldn’t order the ‘food’ fast enough for his liking. Needless to say the grub was pretty awful, burnt steak, unrecognisable fish, dry chilli, inedible meatless ‘chickin’ lickin’ wings and by now an even more sullen waiter. The only positive from the meal came in the shape of a traditional Flanders dish of chunks of cooked meats fused in a pool of jelly. But, everything else was dreadful so I volunteered to make our feelings known in the form of “Just because we are English you don’t have to serve us shite”, or “we look like dumb northern Herberts, but we really are food critics from the Daily Telegraph!” definitely something in the best French along those lines. But I was persuaded not to bother: nevertheless the Doc took over, calling the waiter across he began, “You know this hokum about giving me the wrong meal first, it doesn’t really matter which side of the oxo cube you look at, eggs is eggs, France is not England, comprenday! That’s put him in his place!” I am sure that the arrogant, bewildered waiter understood every single word. We had been ‘done’, effectively tuttled, professionally burgled we had taken it right up the arse.

We drowned our sorrows in our boutique boudoire swilling down the last of the Lidl lager combined with cheap red wine amused by Kenny’s antics emerging into the bedroom from the balcony via the bathroom in Buster Keaton fashion.           

Aux Annees Vins

The next stop was the co-operative cave where it was possible to sample local wines from all of the region’s ‘recognised’ vineyards, ‘degustation’ before purchase. Slightly puzzled, Dave and Kenny inquired as to what the term ‘degustation’ actually meant. To which I replied, ‘free bup’ enjoy! Enough said, the glasses were quickly racked up we began to enjoy. Still the wine of choice was the Premier cru Montagny. This small village which is located adjacent to Buxy boasts most of the top quality wines of the area. The whites are beautifully rounded with a full fruity dry taste I personally feel they are as good as any whites in the entire region of Burgundy. Not far behind in quality are the Aligote whites of St. Gengoux, Chardonnay and St. Martin, the warm light reds of Givry and Mercury and a deeper smooth red from Macon. Although principally beer drinkers the rest of the group gave it their best shot accepting our advice but also trying other varieties until they were 100% sure. After the tasting we had only a few hours to kill until we were booked into the restaurant. Mustering in the bar at 7.30 I was totally surprised when I was presented with 20 selected beers which the team had clubbed together as a token of their appreciation for all the work that I had put in organising the event. This was a truly unexpected gift, perhaps this was an indication of how satisfied the team had become.

“Aux Annees Vins”, owned by Celine and Philippe Queneau, is situated in the heart of the Gothic tower in the centre of Buxy. It possesses one Michelin star but not in the normal sense of the award. There is a category of quality which embraces the smaller localised restaurants. The main criteria being that as well as the dining environment being acceptable, including cutlery, crockery, linen and glass, the staff must be trained to a particularly high standard. Significantly, the menu should include a 20 euro affordable set meal with the most expensive not exceeding 50 euros. The relative cheap restraints of the food should not reflect the quality but encourage the chef to be thoughtfully strategic about the possible combinations of ingredients existing within the framework. Each dish maximising the potential of the local produce, excluding or minimising any waste. Given all of these factors the restaurant is far from ‘stuffy’ but reflects all of the above stipulations and more. The decision was made to opt for the 28 euro set meal which offered three starters, three main, cheese and dessert. Mussel mousse, foie gras including a glass of Montagny and a country pate followed by magret du canette, poulet buerre or entrecote de charolais were the possibilities, perfectly concluded by trios fromage, marcillan creamed cheese or compte. Additional courses were brought as aperitifs; there were freshly prepared tasty bites each topping imaginatively created, later came a local creamed yogurt and finally freshly baked biscuit nibbles. The dessert order had been taken at the beginning of the meal so the pastry chef could craft the concoctions whilst we were enjoying the rest of the meal: these were chocolate sauce pudding, apple marc sorbet, a selection of mini desserts or ice cream with praline. The group devoured the food, sometimes sampling other peoples but often guarding their selection fiercely such was the standard of the fayre. Only small quantities of wine was consumed each person anticipating the next course patiently but eagerly and not wanting to spoil the experience by drowning the moment by vats of vins de maison. The Doc claimed that it was the best meal that he had ever consumed and likewise, compliments flowed spontaneously from everyone throughout the evening. The total bill was approximately 50 euros per head; no one begrudged a penny.  

We returned to Logis de Montagny still unbelievably content with the whole day which had started with the local market at Buxy and finshed with the wonderful evening at Aux Annees Vins.

Wolfgang

·     Thurs.15.11.07. Jo and I had a previously arranged a meeting with Olivier and David Auguste at the house in St. Martin du Tartre to discuss the renovation work schedule so we arose early for breakfast before the rest of the team. Upon leaving, Kenny and Norma were about to go in for petit dejeuner but were slightly apprehensive concerning procedures in particular ordering their food in French. “It’s quite simple, the waitress will ask you if you want coffee or tea, café ou tea, so all that you need to say is ‘café, s’il vous plait’ then she will bring it to your table. She will also ask you for your room number so that she can add the breakfasts to your bill.” Confidently they entered the dining room where they were met by the young waitress. No sooner had she posed the question when Kenny immediately went into ‘shut down’ mode, a la Mad John. His arms strapped to his side, head bowed with hollow eyes fixed to the floor mumbling only one word to the girl, ‘England’, a strange response for any occasion, with that he sat down next to Norma who by now had been joined by Dave and Julie, proudly reporting that he had ordered coffee for four people. He later accused Jo and I of abandoning them like behaving as ‘bad teachers on a school trip’, leaving the naughty ones to fen for themselves in a hostile foreign environment.  

We caught up with the gang at the Logis de Montagny around 12.30. the journey time from Beaujeu to Belleville, Macon, Tournus, St.Gengoux le National and Buxy had only taken one and a half hours. This was a pleasant alternative to the many miles that we had travelled on previous days (we had by now clocked up 900miles) affording sufficient opportunity to see a little of the local market and Buxy town itself. Several possible activities had been discussed regarding the afternoon, the Voie Vert a green beautifully manicured walk along a disused single track railway line, a visit to the preserved medieval historic town of Cluny the equestrian centre of France, or even a hike up to the highest point in the region the top of Mont St. Vincent enjoying magnificent panoramic 360 degree views of  Sud Burgoyne, but surprisingly it was the lure of European bottled beers at Wolfgang’s Papillion bar emerged as favourite.

With the assistance of Madame Girardot, the manager of the Logis, we were able to book a taxi for 2.30 from Buxy to Bissy sur Fley where the bar was located. Welcomed by Wolfgang, our genial German host, we sat cosily in his lounge wading through the five page menu of beers drawn from all the corners of Europe. Wolfgang had been in Bissy for 17 years with his now estranged wife making a living from tourists and strong support from the European ‘biker’ network. He introduced each beer knowledgably, enthusiastically interspersed with ‘tips on good life’ punctuated with a slight ‘phut’ when he wasn’t quite sure how to finish his statement. After much deliberation and advice we decided upon our preferred choices. Doc had gone for the ‘Bitburger’ wheat beer at 4.8% avoiding the temptation of the stronger beers reflecting on the later promise of the best meal of his life at Aux Annees Vins in the evening. Kenny and Norma went for it having the ‘Aventinus at 8.2% and the ‘Doppel bock Dunkel’ at 7.1%. Dave and Julie Young were more comfortable with the 5.2% ‘Wagners heffe Weisse’ followed by the 6.9% ‘Bergbeck Hell’ whilst David and Julie Green, having sampled the delights of the bar several times before knew exactly what they liked and went for ‘Das Naturtrube’, 5.0% and ‘Waldhaus Diplon Pils’ at 4.9%. Jo and I also played safe by having the weaker beers of ‘Franziskaner Heffe Weissbier’ 5.0% and ‘Konig Ludwig Dunkel’ at 5.1%. Each beer had been perfectly matched to the correctly shaped promotional glass in the background to further ease the flow, Wolfgang treated us to his some of his huge collection of ‘Blues’ music. A second round of beers quickly followed with the addition of ‘Rothaus Marzan export’ and a wonderful 7.2% export Guiness which everyone seemed to appreciate. The afternoon had been perfect, the bright high pressure sunny day, the beer the blues and the hospitality of Wolfgang brought tears of joy to Kenny’s eyes. He was in beer heaven, later sticking a lip on Wolfgang to thank him gratefully for a memorable few hours so much so that he was already planning his next trip by booking his ‘gite’ next door for next June. The taxi returned bang on time we made the very pleasant trip back to Buxy enjoying the rolling russet woodlands, tenderly cultivated valley sides bathed in the final throws of the afternoon light to Buxy. 

Sancerre to Mont Brouilly

    

Weds.14.11.07. We bought Sancerre at ‘William Maillot’ the local and most successful vintner, at the beginning the third leg of our adventure to Beaujeu. Luckily, we negotiated an early scare when the Doc’s car stalled at a major junction just outside the town. Previously we had stored the newly purchased wine in the boot of his car as much because both Kenny’s jeep and my car were already bursting with baggage buttressed by six crates of ‘Lidl’ pilsner. The solution to the breakdown was to push the lame vehicle over a canal bridge, park up then phone ‘Green Flag’. As images of this situation instantly flashed into my head potentially repeating itself in a less equitable situation I reminded Dave that “It sounds to me that the problem with the car might be terminal , if so do you think that we had better liberate our wine before it finally croaks”.

Remarkably Doc’s lumbering Volvo managed the trip to the Mont Brouilly Logis at Quencie en Beaujolais via Nevers, Moulins, across country to Charolles over the 2500m peak towering over the valley of l’Ardieres into Beaujeu where we met Julie and David Green who had just flown into Lyon on what they described as a bi-plane, scary. We all travelled together to visit the town of Beaujeu, the heart and ancient capital of the Beaujolais region. I cannot understand why such a dull, predictable urbanised industrialised sprawl could have such notoriety. Today was probably the most important day of their calendar, the celebration ‘Sarmentelle’ dinner, the release of the Nouveau and a 4,000 person gathering but none of this filled us with any sense of anticipation or enthusiasm. The ‘Doc’ by this time had realised that his initial £600 would not last the distance. He began to panic having worked out that he had only £30.00 remaining, given the future petrol hits as well as the cost of the accommodation. He also didn’t need the news, that none of the banks in the area were prepared to change his sterling into euros. Bummer. He reluctantly accepted a generous loan of 400 euros from David which consequently made him far too relaxed as he vowed to have the best meal of his life that night. After the briefest of promenades we decided to hit the bars around the central square until the action started. We eventually emerged from one of the bars to discover that the rows of previously empty tents now contained many hundreds of people swigging the local wine. The visitors carried their wine glass around their necks by means of a piece of string as they lurched from one tent to another. The French are normally ‘tidy drunks’ but even the most seasoned quaffer must have struggled through until midnight? It was a pity that we would miss all the excitement of the evening but we had booked a meal in the hotel restaurant and did not want to miss the promise of our first gourmet meal.

We assembled at eight for aperitifs of Kir Royale, this version containing white wine and blackberry liqueur. The meal was delightful, civilised and lengthy. The excesses of the night in Sancerre had caught up with everyone sensibly the focus was firmly on good food not buckets of grog. All except for Kenny and Norma, who periodically left the table for the back of the truck where several half litre bottles of Lidl lager had been stashed. For every fag break there was an equivalent ‘pils’ break. Each starter was quite different but several of the group had chosen a cream of mussel soup in wine, saffron, lemon warmly accommodating whole mussels. A creamed chicken breast, marinated venison in a blackcurrant sauce stole the honours for the main course with crème broulet shaving the best dessert from chocolate mousse. There was no midnight party as everyone was as ‘full as ticks’ still retaining a dangerously high water table from the night before. The bed beckoned by 11.45 everyone cordially trudged off leaving the Doc chugging on one last fag. 

Honfleur to Sancerre, we are on our way

·     Tues.13.11.07. Honfleur to Sancerre had taken 5 hours across a quite different landscape to that of the coast. The rolling coastal headlands from Calais, Boulogne and Abbeyville of the Seine Maritime had given way to skirting the manmade profiles of Rouen, Evreux, Dreux, Chartres and Orleans. Following the course of the Loire the natural backdrop of the cultivated floodplain gradually bowed to the wooded elevated escarpments emerging in due course, as we began to rise up the vine covered valley sides to the fortified town of Sancerre. The dilapidation of the ‘Hotel du Ramparts’ was immediately apparent as we approached from the lower slopes. Rose tinted, faded memories gave way to stark reality as the hotel was now very much down at heel, grubby in direct opposition to ‘French shabby chic’. We later discovered from the nearby bar that the Madame had become the local lush; the viande was bad the legumes rotten. Consequently we did not eat there but instead we discovered a small, lively bistro, ‘Auberge l’Ecurie’, located just off the square. This little spot turned out to be perfect. Run by an amateur rugby player we were served by smiling efficient young waitresses. Everyone except Kenny who cautiously settled for pizza was more than content. Magret, steak tartare, the by now, ubiquitous entrecote, shellfish and excellent pork chops were heartily consumed. Later, the chef invited the Doc and me into his kitchen to demonstrate how he had cooked the chops. The chef described this cooking process as the ‘in the bag’ method. Firstly, the 4lb piece of meat is sealed by pan frying all of the edges until golden brown, then the piece is placed inside a plastic bag ‘crivacked’ to be simmered in boiling water for 30 minutes. The joint then is taken out of the bag, the 4cm thick chops are cut and flash grilled. The result is superbly tender, succulent dense meat. I would also suspect that this approach could suit other forms of jointed meat, perhaps poultry as well.

We left the bistro in high spirits returning to the ‘Ramparts’ for coffee and brandy. The actual bar was open until 2.00am, totally unheard of in France, but we all suspected this was symptomatic of the present demise of this once beautiful hotel. Just as in most civilised places around the world only skankies and ‘ner do wells’ are still drinking after midnight. This observation, more than any where else certainly applies to France. The rest of France normally would close at 9.00pm apart from enclaves such as this, which was well and truly open. Filled with creatures boasting shaven headed high cheek boned, florid complexions, cheap overly large earrings, institutionalised tattoos, we might well have actually been in Westward labour club on a late Saturday night and not a cold November Tuesday in rural France. But, nevertheless because of picturesque journeys, excellent food plus warm welcomes the group was ‘bonding’ especially content, even if only into the second day we already had a number of experiences that we shared later in Docs room over more beer, wine and jokes.

At Last

·     Mon.12.11.07. At 5.00am on Monday morning there were only three remaining cars that departed for the Dover Calais ferry. Paul had let the Doc down at 9.30pm on Sunday night without warning very unfairly, wrapped up in the guise of some feeble fairytale about an expired passport. Responsibility was never his strong point, there had always been a sense of inevitability about Paul’s lack of commitment to the trip. Consequently ‘Doc’ had turned to the bottle only crawling into his pit at midnight. After almost breaking down the door of the pub in an effort to raise the comatose landlord he emerged tired, confused utterly bewildered. Soon after digging his fist into the till dragging out the nights takings the convoy set off no later than 5.30am. 

                       The Beaujolais Run.

The group now consisted of just seven people, instead of the original ten. Kenny and Norma Brooks the lager louts, Dave and Julie Young, friends of Kenny (Dave is probably the tallest man in the world, soft and dryly spoken, his wife Julie from Sheffield thoughtful, honest and caring) the ‘Doc’, Jo and I now made up the Wigan compliment. David and Julie Green planned to join the rest of the group in Beaujeu on Wednesday for dinner then continue with us to Buxy for the gourmet meal at ‘Aux AnneesVins’. 

Cockney Mick had previously poured cold water upon our ETA at the docks claiming that we would not, as hoped, catch the earlier ferry of 12.15. “You’ve no fackin’ chawnce, you’ve gotta set orf at free firty if you wanna get to Landon befoa mornin’. My bruvva sets orf at five an’ only gets into work at ‘arf too. Me, I sets orf at ‘free firty an’ I’m on site at foa forty”.

Even so we did manage to be on the docks by 10.30 which meant we easily caught the 12.15pm arriving at Calais for 2.30pm local time. A small problem whilst checking in was shrewdly averted when the customs officer queried the names of the passengers. I had previously booked our passage on line but realised half way through the transaction that I didn’t possess every ones surname. Thinking on my feet staring glass eyed at the screen I entered the first handles racing through my empty mind. Kenny and Norma became Mr and Mrs Loggins, Dave and Julie Young translated to Green, Alan was Sugar, Paul’s girlfriend Julie Andrews. Conveniently my car was adjacent to passport control so I was able to explain the very recent changes in personnel. Being a charitable event, as displayed by our new promotional Polo shirts, it was necessary to keep the party fluid, work commitments, child minding, parole violations, ASBO’s and tagging were recited as the main causes for change. By 6.30pm we had checked into the De la Tour in Honfleur, we were quickly enjoying the first red at 7.00pm.

Later in the evening we found ourselves wandering around the picturesque quayside in search of a bistro dinner. We settled for a quaint busy, very French, ‘Billy’ restaurant. The first collective meal of moules, oysters, entrecote, poulet and cabaillourd, proved to be a great impromptu success. The service had been extremely pleasant, the food simple, wholesome but tasty the setting by the harbour was an instant hit with everyone. Well into the night we enjoyed welcome and deserved late drinks in another quayside bar, we had spent far too much money but no one seemed to care; we had made a super start to the trip. Having said that, Honfleur seems to have turned into ‘billy town’ in the last 15 years? I cannot think why. 

Brockie's exhaust

Fri.09.11.07. Disappointingly, Nigel has not yet started to paint either the front or rear wings, which Chris was so desperate to get his hands on. I have asked him to complete all the panels for next week so that they will be dry enough for delivery on Monday the 19^th he has vowed to keep to the deadline but I fear it is another one of those ‘we shall see’ situations. The reaction from Chris when given the bad news was expected yet uncharacteristically brief, “You can’t friggin’ trust anybody these days, it’s the same old friggin’ story, have we employed anyone who has worked on this project that has been reliable, responsible, delivered quality on time?” I kept my thoughts to myself.

Brockie had arrived with the modifications to the 4 branch manifold exhaust. Rather than cutting the chassis where the exhaust is extremely tight it was decided to apply heat then later, pressure to gradually bend the system away from the vulnerable edges. Colin, as per usual, has managed the task with precision so creating the correct amount of space between the box section and the pipes, which should avoid chaffing under ‘road’ vibration. The total exhaust system has since been assembled then bolted to the chassis. A collection of minor but important jobs have also been concluded, namely, the alteration to the small mid-section exhaust brackets, the re-location of the handbrake which now accepts the standard length cable, re-checking the routing of the electrical cables and fuel and brake pipes, the choice of radiator combined with an electric fan (the suggestion of a new Spitfire ‘rad’ and the Subaru race fan are being seriously considered) and the re-tapping of the original worn bolt holes of the windscreen mounts. 

Colin inevitably brings fresh ideas including detail logical approaches that are often an improvement upon our own strategies. One such, simple but effective, modification is the addition of a central filler cap located at the optimum height above the rocker box and radiator. The advantage of this is two fold: filling the ‘rad’ in a more convenient position but also being at the highest point maximising the amount of water in the system. The inherent problem of overheating towards the end of the car’s first life was due, we now suspect, to insufficient water in the system. The former filler cap was mounted lower than the top of the block therefore preventing a full capacity of the coolant. The car reacted naturally by overheating at relatively low revs. Hopefully, this problem will now be avoided.

The 6mm boot base has been used as a template to cut and test the new access point for the rear spring. The new panel using 9mm plywood offers a stronger warp free base with a deeper face to take the piano hinge that will eventually attach the boot lid to the boot floor. Cutting a 45% lip on the front edge of the panel has meant that the floor is now, approximately 8mm shorter. 

This, hopefully, will be taken up by the tolerances already existing within the precise location of the boot box. Thankfully, once in place this proved to be the case, a reinforcement baton glued to the rear of the lining can easily fill the space remaining behind the floor. A recessed brass handle has been incorporated into the small access lid to mirror the ones that have been used in the boot lid. Four corner countersunk screws secure the unit to the base uniformly effecting the entire construction. 

French, Doc and Salty

Thurs.08.11.07. The letter of ‘disappointment’ was eventually sent to Kearly Mulligan who has the grand title of ‘Marketing Manager for inward investment’; she, like the French ambassadress, is based at Gateway house. She has overall control of any of Wigan’s promotional activities, supporting local initiatives supposedly positively encouraging anything that raises the awareness of Wigan. To accomplish these goals she has a team of dedicated enterprising workers who naturally command healthy salaries coupled with a demanding 25 hour working week. But, regrettably someone is not ‘doing their job’. As I was about to post my literary venom I, coincidentally, received mail from Lucie Duverger the person responsible in Angers for the ‘twinning experience’. She expressed regret at our decision not to visit, explaining that because the ambassadors leave their posts in October with new personnel being installed there had been some kind of communication breakdown leading to their lack of information in the office of the OCIA.

So, the people to blame are Suzanne Riches and Helene Joulain who have now left their posts, therefore cannot be held responsible. Quelle surprise. I am confident this problem must now be forgotten. I have spent far too much time becoming overly distracted, I must return to more urgent concerns, namely, building the car.

A lunchtime call to the workshop proved profitable as I managed to retrieve the boot lining, measure the boot lid, collect the odd bits of ‘alli’, to be delivered to Chorley, admire the fine placement and routing work that Chris has undertaken, load the jeep and still dart away in less than half an hour. This speedy turnaround meant that I was able, not only visit Catterall and Wood, collect the timber but also have time to go to ‘Manic Michael’ of Aspull. He has almost finished the seats but has not ordered the carpet. I found him in shut down mode, uncommunicative, very withdrawn, taciturn. I complimented him upon the quality of the workmanship audaciously requesting a small piece of leather with which I could cover the dash back plate. Having to read his thoughts, applying ‘Vulcan mind transference’, due at this point that he was unable to speak, I selected a small scrap to complete the job leaving, unnoticed from his workshop.

The 7.00pm meeting at the Oak turned into 7.30. The Doc apparently had not realised the time, Paul was simply late. Before we were able to begin, Philip rudely interrupted the proceedings by another opportunist reminder to Doc cursedly repeating to him who he should not bring to Keswick upon his return. Not only has he divided the loyalties of the Roy Castle corner due to the timing of the conflicting trips, he is now sticking his nose into my business: one day he shall pay? Fuck ‘im, nevertheless, everyone was pleased with the presentation packs, in agreement with the decision to now go to Sancerre, decisively the group was also prepared to leave at 5.30am on Monday morning in an attempt to make the earlier 12.15pm ferry. But, the Doc will be in holiday mood from Friday night as he is gigging in Windermere on Saturday night, returning on Sunday afternoon for the ‘darts match’  it will be likely he will organise a ‘lock in’ for the rest of the night. If he meets at 5.30 on Monday, sober, I shall bare my arse at the Pier Head.  

Clocks

Weds.07.11.07. Speaking to John Ostick has been yet another bizarre exchange of words. He was quite abrupt insisting that I should ‘listen’ instead of ‘speaking’ but conversely he can be amiable, chatting about how crap it must be to live in Lancashire. He has reminded me to write ‘A’ or ‘B’ on the clock I wish to rescue. It has been at least 15 months since I bought both of the clocks from ‘Angry Max’ who, at the time, informed me that the internals functioned on the clock face that didn’t match the other gauges, but the type face that would be the most suitable had a faulty movement, so that’s clear enough? I have sent both to affable John who assures me that he can fix the one that I prefer, provided ‘that I write clearly A or B on the casing’. I must also send a cheque for £33.95, which includes the restoration and subsequent P and P.

After a brief visit to Richie, who has started the work on the stains for the dash, I have been gathering all the information together for the impending ‘run’. Having still not received a response from M. Cremond in Angers I felt a letter ‘coming on’ to be immediately dispatched to Wigan’s Director of Leisure expressing my confused disappointment at the apparent lack of interest from our twin town. Consequently, I have begun to produce the first draft. 

Doc's challenge

Down at the Oak the talk is of the Beaujolais run and, of course, Salty’s trip to Keswick. The Doc plans to drive back from Dover to Keswick on Saturday to join the ‘dullards’ for their celebration dinner. Chris has wagered a bottle of champagne if the Doc is able to make the journey. Salty has been wagging his finger at any unwanted guest, particularly Cockney Mick but most certainly Doctor Dave. Mick happens to be working in Keswick that weekend, he has stated that he may join them for a drink. Doctor Dave gatecrashed the party two years ago disgracing and embarrassing the group with his drunken antics, he consequently has been banned for life. Salty has been laying the law down to the ‘unwanted’ boldly informing them that they should not ‘go’ to Keswick on the weekend of the 17^th. “You cannot and will not go!” to which Mick’s expression was one of consternation, “You are telling me that I can’t go to ‘fackin’’ Keswick, you are fackin’ telling me where I can and cannot go, we’ll ‘fackin’ see abawt that!” The Doc had a similar warning pointedly referring to not ‘bringing a certain person’ if he did venture to do so he himself would not be welcomed. Jokingly, Doc then mentioned he presumed the ‘said’ person was myself, ‘I’ was then unable to join them on their trip to which Salty immediately backtracked claiming that ‘I’ would be very welcome but not the ‘other’ person. Here was my golden opportunity to speak my mind brusquely reminding Philip that over the number of years that I have known him he has never once invited me anywhere; never to his house, the Rugby finals, The Beeches, fuckin’ Scotland or fuckin’ Keswick and why should he do so now? Why would I want to be associated with his ‘middle aged, back slapping group’, certainly not through this transparent bogus invitation. But, the chance of letting off both barrels conveniently and perhaps a little cowardly past me by, I merely whimpered that I had no intention of joining the party. I must learn to seize these opportunities of once in a lifetime moments of revenge. But, perhaps the ‘project’ has tempered my rage about such trivial insignificant matters. If I believe genuinely that I am not interested one jot being in his company or contrived ‘events’ I have no need to voice such a claim, I didn’t, so I must not.    

 Down at the Oak the talk is of the Beaujolais run and, of course, Salty’s trip to Keswick. The Doc plans to drive back from Dover to Keswick on Saturday to join the ‘dullards’ for their celebration dinner. Chris has wagered a bottle of champagne if the Doc is able to make the journey. Salty has been wagging his finger at any unwanted guest, particularly Cockney Mick but most certainly Doctor Dave. Mick happens to be working in Keswick that weekend, he has stated that he may join them for a drink. Doctor Dave gatecrashed the party two years ago disgracing and embarrassing the group with his drunken antics, he consequently has been banned for life. Salty has been laying the law down to the ‘unwanted’ boldly informing them that they should not ‘go’ to Keswick on the weekend of the 17^th. “You cannot and will not go!” to which Mick’s expression was one of consternation, “You are telling me that I can’t go to ‘fackin’’ Keswick, you are fackin’ telling me where I can and cannot go, we’ll ‘fackin’ see abawt that!” The Doc had a similar warning pointedly referring to not ‘bringing a certain person’ if he did venture to do so he himself would not be welcomed. Jokingly, Doc then mentioned he presumed the ‘said’ person was myself, ‘I’ was then unable to join them on their trip to which Salty immediately backtracked claiming that ‘I’ would be very welcome but not the ‘other’ person. Here was my golden opportunity to speak my mind brusquely reminding Philip that over the number of years that I have known him he has never once invited me anywhere; never to his house, the Rugby finals, The Beeches, fuckin’ Scotland or fuckin’ Keswick and why should he do so now? Why would I want to be associated with his ‘middle aged, back slapping group’, certainly not through this transparent bogus invitation. But, the chance of letting off both barrels conveniently and perhaps a little cowardly past me by, I merely whimpered that I had no intention of joining the party. I must learn to seize these opportunities of once in a lifetime moments of revenge. But, perhaps the ‘project’ has tempered my rage about such trivial insignificant matters. If I believe genuinely that I am not interested one jot being in his company or contrived ‘events’ I have no need to voice such a claim, I didn’t, so I must not.    

 Down at the Oak the talk is of the Beaujolais run and, of course, Salty’s trip to Keswick. The Doc plans to drive back from Dover to Keswick on Saturday to join the ‘dullards’ for their celebration dinner. Chris has wagered a bottle of champagne if the Doc is able to make the journey. Salty has been wagging his finger at any unwanted guest, particularly Cockney Mick but most certainly Doctor Dave. Mick happens to be working in Keswick that weekend, he has stated that he may join them for a drink. Doctor Dave gatecrashed the party two years ago disgracing and embarrassing the group with his drunken antics, he consequently has been banned for life. Salty has been laying the law down to the ‘unwanted’ boldly informing them that they should not ‘go’ to Keswick on the weekend of the 17^th. “You cannot and will not go!” to which Mick’s expression was one of consternation, “You are telling me that I can’t go to ‘fackin’’ Keswick, you are fackin’ telling me where I can and cannot go, we’ll ‘fackin’ see abawt that!” The Doc had a similar warning pointedly referring to not ‘bringing a certain person’ if he did venture to do so he himself would not be welcomed. Jokingly, Doc then mentioned he presumed the ‘said’ person was myself, ‘I’ was then unable to join them on their trip to which Salty immediately backtracked claiming that ‘I’ would be very welcome but not the ‘other’ person. Here was my golden opportunity to speak my mind brusquely reminding Philip that over the number of years that I have known him he has never once invited me anywhere; never to his house, the Rugby finals, The Beeches, fuckin’ Scotland or fuckin’ Keswick and why should he do so now? Why would I want to be associated with his ‘middle aged, back slapping group’, certainly not through this transparent bogus invitation. But, the chance of letting off both barrels conveniently and perhaps a little cowardly past me by, I merely whimpered that I had no intention of joining the party. I must learn to seize these opportunities of once in a lifetime moments of revenge. But, perhaps the ‘project’ has tempered my rage about such trivial insignificant matters. If I believe genuinely that I am not interested one jot being in his company or contrived ‘events’ I have no need to voice such a claim, I didn’t, so I must not.    

  

Switch settings

Tues.06.11.07. I have written to M.Cremond in Angers expressing my displeasure at his lack of action regarding the requests I have made over the past two months outlining the visit by the Beaujolais team. I have informed him of our decision to now go to Sancerre instead. I await his response.

The problem with the switches console has been quite difficult to solve but having assembled the unit it is imperative that the original back plate must be adapted completely integrated into the overall dashboard design. The sockets for the switches all have their own idiosyncrasies which would be extremely difficult to replicate if a new plate had to be fabricated. Their exact location is determined by notches and shoulders in the metal securing perfectly the ‘siting’ of the various radii. I have taken the piece to Chris in Chorley, Catterall and Wood, who believes he can make the necessary modifications to enable the unit to be incorporated into the model dash. Later, having collected the altered plate attaching the switches to the dashboard blank proved to be successful. It is now possible to assemble all the components making up the entire dashboard unit. But, nevertheless since ‘prudence’ has become the latest watchword I shall test the theory in the car before any permanent gluing and screwing is undertaken.

Mick of E J Ward Engineers, who are Triumph Stag specialists have offered the name of John Ostick as a likely source for the illusive 60mm timepiece that I attempted to source at ‘Europa’. Andy informed me that this particular clock is no longer being manufactured possibly the only chance of locating one was to either have my existing clock repaired or perhaps source one via a ‘Stag’ supplier. John Ostick can repair the timepiece for approximately £30.00 provided the casings along with the internals are intact. Another problem could be that the actual clock is ‘positive earth’ whereas the car is wired to ‘negative’; how this can be changed is a puzzle.

Chris has been beavering away in the engine compartment. Routing the fuel, brake and clutch pipes around the bay precisely as well as decoratively connecting them to the relevant components. The aluminium panels mirror the tracks of the pipes as do the various ancillary parts building into a rich mixture of colour and form. For the first time the Burlington is beginning to look like a real car.

Don't forget to look at my other blog at www.njparr@blogspot.com it is a unique view of cooking!!!!

Beaujolais plan

Mon.05.11.07. I have spent the morning finalising the details of the Beaujolais trip. I have given up on the people at Angers who have been very tardy with their response to my e’mails. M. Cremond has not replied to my last request, so he, like many others will find himself in the ‘fuck off’ bin. An executive decision has been made; the group will now go to Sancerre on Tuesday instead of Angers. The details are as follows. 

                       The Beaujolais trip 12.11.07 to 17.11.07.

           Monday 12.11.07. Depart Wigan for Dover for the 13.45 ferry to Calais to

arrive at 16.00 hrs. The travel time is approximately 6 hours. A suggested route is

M6 south, M42 (London), M40 (Oxford, London) M25 (Heathrow, Gatwick) M20 (Folkstone, Dover).

·      Arrival in Calais 4.00pm; the journey time to Honfleur is 3and half hours. 

From Calais, Abbeyville, Rouen, (Caen), Honfleur to stay at the Hotel de la Tour which is situated on the Quayside. Tel 02 53 449 002. There have been 5 twin bedded rooms reserved and paid for. Dinner has not been booked.

·      Tues.13.11.07. Honfleur to Sancerre; the journey time is 5 hours.

Honfleur, Rouen, Chartres, Orleans, Cosne-cours, Sancerre. We are staying at the Hotel du Ramparts which is located in the inner walls of the town overlooking the river. Tel. 02 48 54 10 18. The cost per room is 48 euros plus tax and breakfast. There have been 4 double rooms and one twin bedded room reserved (not paid for). Dinner has not been booked.

·      Weds.14.11.07. Sancerre to Beaujeu; the journey time is about 2 and half hours.

Sancerre, Nevers, Moulins, Lapalaisse, Charlieu, Chauffailles, Beaujeu. We are staying at the Hotel le Mont Brouilly in a nearby village called Quincie en Beaujolais. Tel 04 74 04 33 73.  The double rooms cost 69 euros (not paid for). Dinner has been reserved as this is a very popular, successful restaurant and the cost varies from 22 euros to 46 euros for set menus. Breakfast is not included. The celebration the Sarmentelles takes place in the village from 6.00pm, with such events as wine tasting together with various parades and a firework display at midnight.

·      Thurs.15.11.07. Quencie en Beaujolais to Buxy; the journey time is about 1 and half hours.

Beaujeu, Cluny, Cormatin, St. Gengoux le National, Buxy. We are staying at Le Relais du Montagny in double rooms for 59 euros (not paid for). The dinner has been reserved at ‘Aux Vins Annees’ which is located in the centre of Buxy. It is a Michelin starred restaurant with set menus from 20 euros to 52 euros. During the afternoon we could visit the co-operative ‘cave’ which is situated directly next door to the hotel for free tastings and purchases. The wine starts at 4 euros a bottle, but boxes can be bought or Caravan water bottles filled.

Other places to visit or see could be, Cluny, an historic town with the National Horse jumping centre. The famous Montagny Cave just outside of Buxy, expensive but excellent wines. Wolfgang’s Papillion bar in Bissy sur Fley. Even though he is German he is very personable. Living in the village for 17 years he imports bottled beers from all over the world proudly possessing a 10 page menu of the beers that he stocks. Perhaps for the ‘walkers’ in the group a visit to ‘The Voie Vert’ which is a green walk from Buxy to St. Gengoux and takes in the countryside seen from the converted railway line, is an implausible alternative activity.

·      Fri.16.11.07. Buxy to Cambrai; the journey time could be 5 to 6 hours.

Buxy, Chalon sur Soane, Dijon, Troyes, Reims, St. Quentin, Cambrai. We are staying at ‘Le Mouton Blanc’ situated in the centre of the town in the Place du Gare’ (near the railway station). We have 5 rooms, I double bed room @ 80 euros, I twin bedded room @ 80 euros, 1 double room @ 70 euros, 2 twin bedded rooms @ 70 euros (not paid for). I haven’t reserved dinner but I believe that the hotel restaurant has something of a name in the town? Breakfast is 7 euros.

·      Sat.17.11.07. Cambrai to Calais; the approximate journey time to the coast is about 1 and half hours. The ferry departs at 11.15am and arrives in Dover at 11.30am.

Cambrai, Arras, Bethune, St. Omer, Calais, Dover, M20, M25, M40, M42, M6.

 All travelling times are approximate. We can board earlier ferries if so desired (I shall check on ferry crossings particularly Dover/ Calais if we want to gain more time on the French side on Monday?). The hotel rooms are priced for two people sharing.