Paddocks parts

Weds.26.03.08. The final dry run of the interior panels has been completed. There has been a slight modification to door panels in that they have been narrowed and a curved edge formed on the front leading edge. The new parts have definitely been approved, some of which have already been eagerly fitted by Chris. The oil cooler, in particular, with its burnished braided stainless hoses strikes a pose against the functional black of the radiator. The breather hoses around the carburettors, the terminal and battery connectors, even the brake clips all contribute to an ever increasingly interesting engine compartment.

Today is Chris’s 60^th birthday consequently the Doc and David have organised a surprise party at the Oak under the guise of ‘preparation for the proper opening on Thursday’. Many of the car dealers that Chris conducts his business were there: the good, the bad and the ugly; Maguire the liar, Tall Geoff, Slick, Creepy Mackenzie, Alan and Andy from Suttons, cool Ron Hodson and slippery Hampson. Billy and the Temperamentals provided the Music, of sorts; everyone seemed to be having quite a civilised time. As we left Doctor Dave had just reached for the guitar, Lowtie was whispering over three fields characteristically the Doc was descending into ‘now there’s red and black ones; they don’t look the same but they taste the same’: so I suspect we bailed out just in time.

Thurs.27.03.08. The interior panels have been taken to Michael. Being awake he was able to offer the advice that the rough papered surface may prove a problem when covered in leather because it may show the lumps and bumps through it. He also needed to know the dimensions of the gear stick so that he could make the collar to fit perfectly. The leather must be glued onto the gearbox tunnel because of the contours enabling the joint to fall between the two units and not as a dummy joint appearing just below the handbrake handle.

Chris has beavered away on the electrics with neighbour Brian, who is a qualified engineer. The main task has been the dashboard network, apparently not a huge problem for Brian, who explained the intricacies to Chris.

Tonight has been the official opening of the Oak after all the disruption of the past three months we now have returned to our spiritual home. In the Bowling Green we have left behind Tommy, the brownest whiteman in history, John who continues to nurture the largest collection of fleas, Stuart, the token Scouser, who will probably live out the rest of his life still not understanding the offside rule properly looked after by Martin, the gormless barman. The space in the office has grown since the bar has been cut down and the pillar removed. There is an air of cleanliness, openness yet cosiness. The mood was optimistic, perhaps the future assured. The gloom of the Doc prior to the catastrophic drain collapse has evaporated being replaced by enthusiasm anticipated hope. His thoughts together with the rumours of eviction have dissipated into the pastlife. John Smiths is the preferred brew, more than a substitute for Tetley’s bitter, it flowed effortlessly throughout the night. We had to leave when the guest band, the Winchesters, sparked up: they are very talented but perform pretentious shite; so we left.