The lookalike contest

Thurs.27.11.08. Understandably there will be no work on the car today as it the funeral of Chris’s mother scheduled for 10.30 at Wigan Parish Church. Chris continues to be perplexed about his future direction. He has suffered three personal setbacks over the past month; he doesn’t seem to have the heart for much these days.

 

Sun.30.11.08. November has been and gone. The project has ground to a halt with seemingly little chance of re-starting. There has been no communication with Paul regarding the engine repair; the weather has turned decidedly frosty descending to minus degrees throughout the night pushing back any thoughts of driving leisurely along leafy sunlit lanes. Ignoring the vehicle almost denies its existence: it has become an irritation like unwanted hair in the ears and nose.

The band has played the last gig on Saturday at Witton Chimes, the decision to take a ‘sabbatical’ is wise preventing the inevitable implosion that is the conventional exit for most ‘groups’. Pragmatically, I cannot see us ever getting back together; this is the end, closure. I have received my ‘bus pass’, or ‘concessionary travel pass’ as it officially is called, so I can use trains, trams and buses throughout the boundaries of Greater Manchester without charge. I am feeling old, unquestionably useless; hardly a time to celebrate.

Billy and the Temperamentals were gigging at the Oak with a new drummer, fiddle player plus ‘Richie’ was guesting on guitar, sax and vocals (it is odd how things move on quite quickly). But, by the time Jo and arrived the ‘lookalike’ contest was already underway. Billy has always been slightly flamboyant when it comes to dress sense but recently he has exceeded himself. He has taken to wearing scarves, cravats, loud ties, brightly coloured waistcoats, frock coats, his forehead wrapped in bandannas. So much so that he has cloned into ‘David Essex’, the self proclaimed gypsy of the canal boat. With his tousled hair, craggy features, broad grinning face he resembles his long lost twin brother, divided at birth, sold to a horse trader having being brought up in a north of England mobile home. Kenny was the first to adorn a silk handkerchief around his neck followed by Ash sporting a collarless, boldly printed shirt, but it was Lewis who was dressed head to foot, waistcoat, torn levis, cowboy boots, suede waistcoat with silver hunter and chain, cotton pin striped sleeveless shirt, roughly tied spotted neck scarf, false ear ring, curly gelled hair.  Billy did join in with the chorus of ‘hold me close, don’t let me go’ but withdrew his vocal contribution when the entire pub went on to ‘Rock on’. Lewis carried on with the impersonation determined to provoke Billy to snap. Meanwhile Graham, the ‘ex’ roady turned pie importer, has grown a beard, has bought a waxed jacket and flat cap. He is touting for business as ‘the Lowtie tribute band’. He is taking the task seriously by having shouting lessons with Johns rival, fat Tom of Standish, last years winner of the gold cup event, vigorously practising the complementary violent hand waving movements whilst simultaneously pulling out murdered wildlife from his poachers pockets. The contest continued long into the afternoon reaching its nadir with the ‘ganzy’ competition. Chris had dug out a heavy woollen brown number first bought, at great expense, in the eighties from ‘Kendals’ of  Chester. This, together with his recently purchased leather coat gave him a look of ‘Vandervalk’ the slightly off the wall ‘grass smoking’ Dutch detective. In Sam’s bar earlier in the afternoon he had already run the gauntlet of a loudly hummed version of the theme tune by the ‘vault boys’ who had taken a break from the ‘let’s fit fuck into every possible word contest’. Naturally this incident travelled to the Oak where an alternative rendition was offered by the ‘Roy Castle’ corner. Jo and I left after the last number from the band but I suspect one, if not all, of the ‘lookalikes’ may have snapped at some point in the evening.

Deja vu

Sun.23.11.08. I am quite confident that if I look back on the notes I made this time last year I would be reading the exact same dialogue, because, it is the ‘homecoming of the annual Keswick old boys trip’. The group had arrived back to Standish around midday, but instead of sinking 10 pints in the ‘Dog and Partridge’ they had 10 in the ‘Globe’. After their last visit to the ‘D and P’ the place suffered a fire that required extensive refurbishment before it could re-open. After only one month after the re-launch the place has closed due to the ‘credit crunch’ followed by the subsequent recession. Back in the Oak the stories emanating from the ‘Anglo Scottish back slapping do’ had also not moved on. ‘The rooms were basic but clean, the food was expensive but was good and bad at the same time, the weather was wonderfully clear sparklingly bright but raining, the pipers were worse than the year before, as were the traditional highland ditties, the England rugby team were annihilated by south Africa, the Scots were not, only one person let the Captain’s side down but no one knew who, they had spent an embarrassing amount of money on bad ale but still managed to get pissed; generally speaking it was as if it were yesterday since they were last there, that may have something to do with habits not changing’. The only slight perceptible difference was that the Captain didn’t eat the evening meal with the group but decided instead to visit the local ‘chippy’: I don’t suppose it had anything to do with him not being granted his usual gratuitous meals from the hotel?

Because of the circumstances, due to the sudden death of Chris’s mother, the group was somewhat subdued, except for Lowtie who seemed to be on ‘speed’, perhaps having recently raided his son’s stash. His high spirits mainly surfaced after most of the Lakes assembly had disbanded, including Chris who had left earlier, still very confused about his present feelings. But John was on top voice drowning out even the melodic warblings of ‘Jon Brindley’ who had just started his first set. Danny, his saltette wife Katie had just arrived together with Jamie with his girlfriend ski instructor with the huge ‘charlies’, all of which became embroiled in the farting contest that was in full flow in the office corner. Lowtie would periodically point the finger at the same time clenching his nose with his other hand. The Preacher smiled as did Cockney Mick both profusely denying the offence. Even comments such as. ‘monkeys smelling their own shit first’ didn’t deter Lowtie from turning his accusing attentions toward Danny. Katie jumped to his rescue claiming that he had never farted before her in his life; she also, had never dropped one as long as she had lived. Jamie plus girlfriend looked bemused not really understanding exactly what was going on so they departed to the other end of the bar. Lowtie fell into further suspicion when the violent odour was only present when he himself was in the group, but as new people called at the bar he deftly deflected allegations nodding toward the innocents. As respite from the ‘fart competition’ Vinnie joined the company, having just returned from Twickenham, attempting to sidetrack the current conversation with reminiscences of ‘G and T’s’ in the car park, curries, pacing himself, early nights, smashing chaps, jumpers for goalposts, Swindon and driving back on the A49, concluding that he couldn’t perceive any foul odours what so ever. Princess Katie, meanwhile was up to her old tricks of flirting with the older men, suggestively posing, thrusting her crotch forward with any excuse to make body contact then finally, fondly inquiring of Andy Lewis that she ‘would fancy the roughness of his beard between her thighs’: certainly the world of ‘Santus’ is a strange place only entered as one would a ‘theme park’, very infrequently.

As Jon Brindley sparked up with the George Formby classic, ‘I’m leaning on the lamp post’ it was the signal for Jo and I to retreat home for dinner. 

Birthday celebration?

Mon.17.11.08. The day has been far from stressful, as both Jo and I have spent all of the day with Gemma and Sam. Needless to say they are both wonderfully adorable putting in perspective the facile significance of my birthday, which in the greater scheme of things is purely immaterial. I received a super gift from my dearest of an I’Pod: I wish I knew what it was or does? But I feel sure that I shall find out someday. We had a simple meal of ‘rack of lamb’, a bottle of fizz washed down with a claret. It has been a day I can now put behind me but I shall fondly remember the simplicity of it all as well as what really matters.

Weds.19.11.08. I have definitely experienced closure with my 60^th but I must now attempt to revitalise my interest in the Burlington to generate enough interest to conclude this final episode. 

Fri.21.11.08. Chris is dealing with some bad news regarding his mother. Last Saturday she was placed into the care of the Royal Edward and Albert hospital, never famed for its hygiene or excellence of patient welfare. Unfortunately, she passed away early this morning. He really has not had the best of luck recently with his health or personal circumstances. But this weekend also hails the return of the Anglo/Scottish annual back slapping contest at Keswick organised by Captain Salty, which inopportunely, was always a favourite trip for Chris.

I have taken it upon myself to contact Paul regarding the progress with the engine block and head. He has bored out the block to 40’s; he had thought at one stage that he would need to go to 60’s which could have put extra strain on the sleeves as well as the solidity of the block itself. The crank should be re-ground this afternoon, all being well. He has sent the head to a colleague who will decide the extent to which the ports should be polished to address the problems. 

Almost full stop

Fri.07.11.08. I phoned Paul of Engine Tekniks who has not been able to make any progress on the engine or the head. He hopes to begin next week.

As a distraction to the present events I have started to re-draft the Burlington Story. I have found it quite difficult since my early writing is full of mistakes, not very funny an’ badly grammered.

Mon.10.11.08. Chris has had another accident in the home. Last week he swivelled around whilst in the garage impaling himself in the eye on a rusty iron bar. Luckily, it was his bad eye but it has been another warning about the state of his health.

Thurs.13.11.08. There is still no news regarding the repair of the engine. Chris has told me not to meither Paul because he may spit his dummy out. Chris has in the meantime been busy with his kitchen which I suspect suits him to get it out of the way before Christmas 2009. The DVLA have requested an appointment to see the Burlington. I spoke to ‘Philip’ who has left a message for Mr. Alim explaining that we are in the hands of Engine Tekniks who are re-building the total unit.

Sat.15.11.08. It might be that this is the weekend of my 60^th birthday and I am feeling deeply depressed at the thought of having all of best years of my life behind me: the burning question being ‘what have I done with them?’ I have also, over the past 6 months, been wrestling with many aspects of my present my lifestyle, which requires a definite shift towards greater responsibility, consideration for the closest people around me and to determine a positive structured plan for the future. Perhaps to compound this solemn mood I am probably fast realising that the car will not be finished, worst still I don’t see when it will be completed. I have had no news from the engine builder, Paul, who promised that he would be tackling the job this week. Chris is more interested in his kitchen; to be fair I am reaching the stage where I don’t give a fuck either. I have never felt like this before but I do need this chapter in my life to be closed. I have always claimed that I would never pressurise Chris, or take issue with the cost, which has spiralled out of all proportion, or who is exactly to blame for the endless delays and excuses, together with the faults that have been exposed over the past 30 days. I have had enough of the entire affair. My enthusiasm has completely evaporated. I recall when I was 40 I had a very strong determination to buy a boat when I was 60; what has happened to that dream? I cannot imagine what I shall feel like on Monday but I would guess it won’t be uplifting.

Distractions

Sun.02.11.08. This is the day after Halloween when, Philip had hosted a fancy dress party at Salty Towers. He naturally was Dracula, the blood sucker, Danny Brennan the Mummy, David the Phantom of the Opera, Adele was Morticia, Jennifer was? Katie arrived covered entirely in green rubber, God knows why, but nevertheless it must have assisted her habitual mission, when she becomes seriously pissed, to stick a lip on every male at the gathering. There must be a story in this but I can’t think what at the moment? I suppose it is due to the fact that I do not give a flying fuck what goes on down at the Towers.

Lowtie has decided to drink Perrier for 2 weeks in preparation for the annual arse licking contest in Keswick. This seems quite odd considering that the entire weekend is devoted to drinking vast quantities of ale; usually at least 25 pints per day. The trip is scheduled for the weekend of the 22.11.08. Typically coinciding with the date for the Beaujolais run Salty has succeeded in scuppering any threat from any alternative rival ‘excursion’. Last week he was busily passing around his agenda for the weekend, the dinners, wet breakfasts (on Saturday morning there is a faint possibility that England may be playing Australia in the Rugby Union world cup, a 9.00am kickoff) combined with leisurely afternoon strolls punctuated by lavish lunches. My personal preference would be that I would rather have my nuts cut off, lovingly and skilfully prepared, then served and garnished by Cockney Mick.  

Oddly during the afternoon I heard ones of those bizarre conversations executed on a mobile phone in the less than salubrious ‘stones’ at the Oak. Graham, the self confessed bi-polar ‘ex’ roady was having a slash whilst at the same time holding a conversation with his wife, “Yes, that’s right, the total package for £57 quid, Harry the rat says it can’t be beat, installed and everything, anyway how was the spag bol? Not too much tomato?” then whilst washing his hands concluded with “I’ll speak to him tomorrow for a proper timeframe, specification, the whole nine yards break down,” simultaneously, whilst shaking off,  he then clipped down his mobile turned to me to ask if I wanted 2 tickets for a Jo Bonamassa concert in Manchester. 

Meanwhile Lewis Hamilton was on the way to securing fifth place in the Brazilian grands prix to claim the driver’s championship; he was a assisted by Timmo Glock, who was lying in fourth at the start of the last lap with Hamilton sixth, but, whose tyres suspiciously lost all grip dropping him down to sixth place placing the fortunate Lewis to a winning fifth. Perhaps he hopes to drive for McLaren next year or maybe his German background favours northern Europeans as opposed to greasy Latin, South Americans like Philippi Massa?

A slow grinding halt

                                 Burlington Diary November 2008

Sat.01.11.08. Given the disappointment of last month entering into November for the third consecutive year holds very little excitement. It is a far cry from the euphoria of the original challenge of the ‘Beaujolais run 25 years on’. Even the surprising delights of last years’ trip are at present old news, something detached from the true purpose of the build. The constant ribbing in the Oak is irritating rather than stimulating; the project has become just another job, a never-ending tedious mountain of toil. The engine problems have been a sharp reminder that as perfect as we assume our efforts have been there will always be a reason not to become complacent, self satisfied; letting personal pride overwhelm humility.

For the first time during the project ‘finances’ are becoming a major concern. Choices must be prioritised. The re-build of the engine will wipe out the funds set aside for the purely decorative ‘minilite’ wheels. At some point there must be a reconciliation of £250.00 with Nigel Penk for the final polish of the paintwork. Road testing will no doubt expose some short comings of the suspension as well as the rigours of the MOT may also be troublesome. If the vehicle requires a SVA test then we shall be in the shit: their comprehensive, demanding safety issues would mean the modification of the lights, bumpers, mirrors and seatbelts: in other words, anything that given a collision, may damage the ‘third party’.

I suspect November will be a difficult month.   

Engine Tekniks to the rescue

Sat.25.10.08. Colin had requested that Chris should not begin to dismantle the block until he was able to assist, perhaps in the hope to verify his build by identifying and eliminating possible errors. The oil ways had become blocked somehow, probably by some ‘foreign body’, or remnants of residual rust caused by being ‘stood’ for 20 years. Although the block was cleaned thoroughly these damaging particles may have become dislodged, when the engine was first fired up, being dragged along through the cavities by the oil, similar to sediment on a river bed reluctantly becoming part of the flow but often accumulating in awkward places creating minute but critical blockages. Colin needed to find, for his own state of mind, an explanation for the calamity.

Mon.27.10.08. By taking the block and crank to Engine Tekniks may have salvaged some of Colin’s pride because it was revealed in the workshop that the original crank grind and re-bore had been flawed; either when originally machined or over the period of time when the car had been laid up. The tasks must therefore be re-done, the head skimmed, this time precisely and properly.

Disappointingly, however, but even more regrettably the Stage 2 head supplied by XRN engineering has been very poorly assembled. Only the exposed areas appear to have been polished, the valve guides have been inserted upside down, the ports have not been polished effectively to increase the gas flow, particularly in the throat, the bottom seat diameter has not been opened adequately creating a lip under the seat. On the whole the general build lacks care and attention to detail. It is even likely that, in this condition, it would decrease rather than increase performance. For around £400.00 this work is an abomination. A phone call is due, but the head was supplied on 27.10.06, as such I would find it very difficult to fight my corner. Subsequently, XRN will join the rest of the ‘ner do wells’ in the ‘fuck off’ bin.

Probably, the next move is to request the total build be undertaken at Westhoughton where quality is guaranteed, should recourse be necessary the company is local, it’s reputation  highly regarded. End of.  

The project seems to be plagued by bad luck. Considering the never ending search for quality throughout all of the building stages we have been repeatedly let down badly by manufacturers in addition to suppliers. It has been a constant battle making judgements of ‘choice’: trusting, mainly by status or recommendation when a new contact has been sourced. One simple rule, however, still applies, “When and where possible always support local business”. They speak the same language, are culpable, vulnerable to criticism but moreover are more than capable of ‘putting things right’.

Fri.31.10.08. With this plan of action Chris and I transported the head, main bearings, relevant gaskets and seals to Paul at Engine Tekniks. After only one meeting I feel convinced that he is more than competent of ‘putting things right’. He will farm the stage 2 head on to a colleague who is also similarly competent to undo the sloppy mess fashioned by XRN.  

The promise of completion this month has evaporated. The car will not be finished during November but I care not.

Match analysis

Thurs.23.10.08. The DVLA has written requesting that the vehicle should be brought Thurs to their offices on Wednesday 29.10.08 for an inspection to verify the legitimacy of the chassis and engine numbers. Fat chance. I managed to contact ‘Brigid Manifauld’ to re-arrange the inspection much later. She was very cooperative casually informing me to ‘let her know’ when the car was ready, she would then alter the appointment.

Chris has taken the crank, oil pump and what remains of the shells to Paul at ‘Engine Tekniks’ of Westhoughton. After one hour of dialogue, scrutiny, conjecture and ‘head scratching’ nobody could agree or answer why the bottom end had become so starved of oil to generate such damage. The ‘dodgy’ shells provided by Paddocks possess sound provenance, being ‘Vanderbilt’, they are perhaps as good as anyone could buy; the crank also was in prime condition as was the oil pump, so it has not been a failure of poorly engineered parts The sensible outcome seems to involve regrinding the crank, replacing the shells but also, more importantly, stripping the block down in preparation for a pressurised steam decontamination, therefore, comprehensively cleaning the entire carcase. If this procedure exposes an internal crack, which can only be revealed under such conditions, or when the engine runs, then there lies the problem, but if not, it is back to scratching heads. Colin and Chris hoped that stripping the block could be avoided but they will now accept the advice of Paul who strongly recommends this course of action. This methodology seems very sensible, for many reasons. 

The past few days has thrown everyone into a dreadful down ward spiral. Stepping back to consider re-building the entire ‘short engine’, is a bitter pill to swallow, but it is the only way that we can be sure that ‘everything is ok’. Colin especially is feeling particularly uncomfortable because it was his expertise that we relied upon to assemble the unit. Given the difficulty of extricating the engine from the car when it eventually returns it must be ‘bomb proof’. Oil must flow, water must circulate; it must have a long, long undisturbed life.

It is certainly time to put all egos on hold, to continue the work thoughtfully, but furthermore, diligently. 

Engine disaster

Weds.22.10.08. The DVLA has replied to my application for the change from an estate to a convertible by referring my case to their Manchester office. The letter concludes that there is “A discrepancy with their records and as such the vehicle needs to be inspected by the local office”. They go on to say that I shall be contacted in the near future when a mutually convenient time can be arranged.

Meanwhile, the original tonneau cover has been matched to the cockpit to verify that the new design would be successful. This can be altered then used as a pattern for a new tonneau. The cover can be shortened over the boot, the roll bar access points blanked, the three zips and reinforced tension bar on the mini sidescreen edge included and the attachment clips modified and secured to the scuttle top. All of these changes should ensure a practical, worthwhile protective cover.

Colin and Chris are examining the defect in the engine today. I shall call later in the day to discern the prognosis. 

Dick joined Colin and Chris for the engine strip down in the afternoon. As soon as the oil pump had been detached, the unit had to be systematically examined by cutting it in half ensuring that the filter had functioned properly. At this point it was evident that this was not the suspected fault: I must therefore apologise to the manufacturers for my slanderous accusations. But, understandably, this discovery threw all of their expectations adrift: they were completely baffled by the problem, not one of the ‘proficient’ team had experienced these symptoms before. The next area to be explored was the big end bearings followed by the main bearings. I confirmed with Chris that the big end bearings supplied by Paddocks were in fact for a 6 cylinder 2 litre engined Vitesse and not a 13/60 gk Herald. 

It seems from Paddocks website, according to ‘part numbers’ that both the Spitfire Mk4 and the GK series engine of the Herald 13/60 share the same bearings, inlet and outlet valves, push rods etc. being compatible units. The Mk3 Spit and the 1200 /1250 Herald also share ‘specific’ distinctive components. I am not really sure how this would affect the ‘running’ of the engine but I am leaving this to the experts. I later ascertained from John at Paddocks that the Vitesse big end shells are compatible with the 13/60 engine, which in turn, should potentially eliminate the complications with the top end.

Further investigation has revealed that the worst area of damage had been to the crankshaft. The oil, in such a short space of time, had been reduced to burnt black sludge congealed with shards of metal ragged and torn from the shells. If the car had actually been on the road the engine would have been cooked and consequently terminal; this at least may be the only blessing to emerge from this distressing episode. 

The crank will have to be either re-ground or exchanged for similar unit as well as matching shells: Paddocks can supply the components for £90.00, part number jpr 102. There currently exists sufficient tolerances within the old crank, only having being ground to .010 at present any increase up to .060 could be considered. As soon as all agreed that this must be the way forward there seemed only one choice as to where this work should be undertaken. To risk another dubious component from a conventional supplier is not the route. As, perhaps should have been done before ‘Engine Tekniks’ of Westhoughton will be trusted to properly grind the shaft and replace with the appropriate quality shells. This company pride themselves to carry out responsible, superior engineering; it would be foolish at this stage not to base the ‘heart of the motor car’ on this sound robust foundation.   

This affair is far from over. Blame, has not yet been attributed. Who has looked at the wrong side of the OXO cube?  Who has fallen into a barrel load of nipples and is sucking his thumb? Who will reveal the last turkey in the shop when the tide retreats? Who has thrown the wrong bucket away? Who are the arseholes and who are the twats? Who will finish up in the ‘fuck off’ bin? I would guess that the manufacturers along with the suppliers will shoulder most of the blame; but what of the ‘constructor’ of the engine? Why should this fastidiously engineered piece of kit suddenly implode? Should the initial crankshaft have instinctively, routinely been ‘ground’ before the rebuild began? Should the big end bearing set of 6 shells been questioned before assembly?  How were the tolerances of 010 for the main bearing set and 020 for the big end deduced? 

One thing is for sure. The leaden jacket that Chris thought he had shed for good has returned, but in a larger size. 

This will set the project back for many months; not because of the physical problems of rebuilding and fitting the engine but for the psychological effect it will have upon all of us. To become so close to completion to have it snatched away in such a cruel, selfish way is hard to come to terms with. 

Serious engine problems!!

Tues.21.10.08. For the previous 6 days Chris had taken a sensible rest from all that is stressful but together with Colin has planned a possible resumption of ‘work’ from lunchtime today. Colin was to prepare the groundwork for the final push, organizing the programme for the MOT. He would schedule the ‘checks’, the tightening of nuts and bolts, the re-configuration of the front springs, sitting the vehicle on it’s wheels, the adjustment of the suspension, everything in fact that boasts, “We are very close to the finishing tape!”.

But, disappointingly, having once started the engine a disconcerting noise from the lower crank area of the unit began to grumble growing into something much more sinister. It wasn’t long before the sound developed into a sizeable groan, inevitably reaching dangerously audible proportions. A preliminary examination exposed a probable fault with the oil pump, confirmed by a distinct lack of the ‘liquid substance’ inside the rocker cover. The symptoms were common to an oil pump failure that if not addressed immediately would cause maximum damage to the assembled components inside the engine. Closer examinations of other oil feeds indicated that the problem could be traced back to the ‘bottom end’: significantly, there was also a deficiency of any fluid distribution coupled with a total lack of oil pressure.

This has been a major blow. Colin had taken meticulous care when building the engine from scratch. Nothing was left to chance. Precise measurements throughout the entire construction were taken. There was a stage 2 head professionally built by GKN, re-built twin 1.5 SUs, compatibly jetted for the head, a one off twin stainless steel exhaust system fabricated on site, rings, sleeves, shells all tenderly assembled: it had been a perfectly engineered motor, annoyingly let down by a shoddily, carelessly manufactured pump. It is the B10 C1 217058 oil pump provided by Paddocks on 19.10.06 at a cost of £40.50. Will there be no end to this incredible absence of ‘quality control’? The engine must be removed then stripped. The ancillary components, starter motor, brake and fuel lines, dynamo, carburettors, distributor, manifold also must be detached. The front end of the car needs to be completely taken to pieces, the radiator, oil cooler, fan, nose cone and shrouds, all dismantled to accommodate this procedure.

Colin left the building bereaved, blubbering like an infant. He, like Chris was inconsolable, confused, furious, feeling cheated, mugged again by inadequate, inferior product. This is just bollocks.

Swansea

Weds.08.10.08. Putting off the DVLA informing them of the conversion from ‘estate’ to ‘convertible’ cannot be avoided anymore. My original contacts Nikki Hannon and Jean Beaver have both moved on, but my latest contact, Philip, has directed me towards Swansea. I still need to inform ‘HQ’ of the change as a result a letter has been drafted then dispatched. Philip intimates that they may issue the registration certificate immediately, there may be no need for an inspection by the Manchester division, but if this happens I will show my arse at the Pierhead.

Mon.20.10.08. I have returned from our visit to London to some sad and disturbing news. I managed to call Chris on Friday 17^th reporting for duty, placing myself back on radar. Regrettably, quietly and gloomily Chris informed me of a health scare he had experienced the previous Tuesday. He had woken early that morning feeling decidedly uncomfortable, unnervingly, extremely ill, quite possibly in a delusional frame of mind. His condition became progressively challenging over a short period of time. He was rushed to the Royal Albert by ambulance naturally suspecting another ‘stroke’. Spending most of the day undergoing various tests he was discharged late in the evening with a ‘clean bill of health’. It has been such a fright that he has since been contemplating a total review of his life and work. He intends to ditch any legitimate connection with the ‘car trade’. There are so many sharks within the trade attempting to stay one jump ahead requires guile together with a degree of ruthlessness, a manner usually associated with a south American dictator. Particularly at this moment in time within the present global meltdown the sharks will become increasingly ravenous; it will be no place for the infirmed or weak. 

He has decided that he needs no more of it; he plans an early exit. Other contributing factors may also need to be addressed, but it will be more difficult to change his nature, attitude and mental approach than merely requesting to ‘de-vat’.      

This second scare has been a real shock for Chris, who in the past would relish a contest, sparing enthusiastically over a ‘deal’, but because over the past few years he as become a genuine friend, and as such I am not only concerned about his health, but also whether or not he has the determination to confront and subsequently prepare for the reality that is his future. 

Snag list

Mon.06.10.08. It has been decided to use the original wheels and tyres during the weighting and road teats. To make them more acceptable they have deserved a thorough clean. Given that they have stood in a damp garage for the past eighteen years they are in a remarkably good state. The paint is reasonably fresh; the alloy is not pitted or crusty. A power wash down at the local petrol station has brought most of the heavy soil and dirt off which was then followed by 80’s wet and dry and a vigorous ‘T’ cut. Further polishing with a graded wax should see them adequate for the trial purposes. By checking the balance of the wheels will also indicate whether or not the steel radial core has been damaged by storage, as such they could be dangerous or inaccurate for the trial period.

The seat runners have received several layers of satin black to hide the re-welding that was necessary after the modifications to the ride height. New bolts for the pancake filters were collected from Brabbin and Rudd along with various fibre, copper and galvanised washers for the dashboard fixing, the oil feed to the rear of the block and the filters. 

I have heard the engine for the first time. It sounds superb.

Tues.07.10.08. The wheels have polished up reasonably well to display an old fashioned patina reminiscent of veteran vehicles. Nevertheless they are totally unsuitable aesthetically for the car but can bee used as winter treads, more importantly they will offer ‘test’ facilities together with ride height specifications. The seat runners are ready to be bolted to the body tub after which the seats can be attached. By the time I had finished both of these tasks it was quite late in the day. Meanwhile, I had not realised the endeavour that had taken place up at the workshop. When I arrived I was presented with the ‘ups and downs’ of an unusual day.

Dick has spent another day at Westmead to iron out some of the niggling faults that are appearing on a daily basis ever since the engine had been fired up consequently also engaging all of the ancillaries. The starter motor purchased simply because of the brand ‘Lucas’ boldly displayed on the packaging, is a poorly constructed obscenity. It seems that the manufacturers who claim to have reconditioned the piece have merely painted the external casing to then, only replace the matrix. 

The interior exhibits signs of having never been checked. Two out of the four bushes were seized making no contact with the magnetron, a plastic sheath was also broken, there was evidence that the internal mechanisms had never been ‘touched’ since the unit was first manufactured. This has been yet another example of having naïve faith with ‘brand leaders’ but sadly realising that many of these items have never seen the parent company being retailed under very dubious, fraudulent circumstances.

The electrical fault that has caused the most concern revealed itself once more threatening to torch the entire car within seconds. But Dick, lugubrious as he is, moved athletically to pull off the battery terminal to speedily subdue the effect of the conflagration. The problem brought into doubt much of the stability of the wiring. “If it happens with this switch, what about the rest?” questioned puzzled Dick. The defect was not logical since when the dashboard was removed to expose the connectors each proved to be correctly coupled, encouragingly lacking current at the precise moment when the problem occurred. Dick suggested that the reason for this sudden surge of power was due to the faulty control which was located directly to the overdrive mechanism on the gearbox. To examine this area would entail removing the exhaust system, disconnecting the prop shaft and dropping the box: the prospect of which sent Chris into an immediate spiral of depression. 

“There must be something we have missed?” thought Chris, conveniently filing away any thoughts of stripping the car down. Luckily Chris noticed that Dick, when fastening the dash to the scuttle, leaned rather heavily on the three way overdrive toggle switch thus engaging the obsolete third position. The spades that were laid bare, because they were superfluous to the operation of the unit, were the direct cause of the ‘fire’. They were responsible for the ‘short’ completing the circuit purely by accident. If the toggle engaged the third position it would create an instant and very dangerous circuit. Once this had been discovered it was a simple matter to remove the offending connectors and also to further prevent any other contact a rubber bandage was applied to the guilty section. 

Slowly but now thoughtfully most of the ‘snag list’ has been addressed. The leaks have been sealed, hoses tightened, suitable washers added. The car functions properly, starts every time and sounds wonderful.       

Is there an engine problem?

Fri.03.10.08. I have just finished an uncomfortable conversation with Mary of Europa; who having assessed the recent ‘returns’ of the Smiths ammeter plus the incorrectly supplied oil pressure sender refuses to re-reimburse us for the parts. Having had a word with her ‘boss’ and the resident engineers, they claim that both parts show damage or have been tampered with therefore cannot be ‘sold on’. Even though the sender was sold as an incorrect part as such could only be tested after having been fitted to the car they still refuse to accept any blame; the total fault being ours for fitting the parts clumsily thus causing the damage. They intend posting back the units. I wonder what they think we can use an inappropriate and a superfluous part for? Having spent a total of £718.80 with Europa over the past few years I feel a letter coming on. I do hope they don’t finish up in the ‘fuck off’ bin, but I suspect they may. 

I have composed and dispatched a letter of complaint but later having spoken to Chris during the afternoon similar correspondence could have been sent to many other suppliers who also posted equally shoddy goods.

Colin had visited the workshop in the morning to catch up with the progress but also to listen to the wonderful engine tone. Regrettably, more faults began to emerge. The starter motor had stuttered the day before but now has totally died, there is an additional oil leak from the ‘Mocal’ oil cooler, but most disturbingly Colin has detected an odd ‘tapping’ noise from under the rocker box cover. The starter motor has the ‘so called’ reliable provenance of ‘Lucas’, the banker of the auto electrical trade, but perhaps it was only the box that it came in had any connection to the company at all. ‘Mocal’ again is regarded as a brand leader but similarly has disappointed. The present main area of disenchantment has been the stage 2 head prepared by GKN engineering. Not exactly a cheap piece of kit at £535.00; it has not been set up properly requiring a deal of fettling from Colin. This action should not be necessary, as so with the other faulty, ‘brand new’ goods. Throughout the entire build we have always endeavoured to purchase quality components from established trusted names within the trade, but at every stage in the restoration, disappointment, relating to the standard of manufacture, has never been far away. What the fuck is going on.

Nevertheless, the front springs and the leather cockpit trim have been completed. They are now ready to be attached to the car. I am also formulating a design for the tonneau/side screen issue. I propose to take the initial design to Coverdale carpets who hopefully can ‘realise’ as well as fabricate the idea. If a reinforced bar could be incorporated on the edges that are located directly above the door arch then 2 additional zips sewn into the line then the cover could offer a dual purpose of ‘mini’ side screen but when totally zipped up create a complete tonneau cover. The purchase of 2 wind deflectors (that normally are fixed to the windscreen) from Life’s motors could put the last touches to the weather equipment. This may work? 

Sandblaster

Thurs.02.10.08. Back to the mundane task of fitting the final piece of leather trim, with the aid of the broom handle this was accomplished during the morning. Later I was back to Thunderdome part Deux to collect the springs. Stuart Causey is the son of the owner, who still possesses some marbles but is destined to join the rest of the sand blasters on Mars, in a later or parallel existence, explained in great detail how the company has been transformed from a desolate, puddle ridden, exposed yard to the state of the art collection of tin clad warehouses; no doubt with the assistance of a direct grant from the department of commerce and industry from the coffers of the ‘Inter-galactic EU’. The springs had been added to a batch of garden gates, which had been propped up in the centre of one of these vast warehouses. At first it seemed as if the cloud of smoke or mist that enveloped the interior of the building, odourless yet dense was difficult at first to instinctively recognise. It was sand; the finest atomised particles that had been continuously re-cycled morphing into a floating ochre mist that hovered at some predetermined height inside the shed. A rough and ready ‘suited up’ operator appeared from the mist gripping an oversized petrol pump aiming the barrel as if it was a shotgun. After releasing the jet of sand he immediately disappeared within the sinister fog. Five minutes later the same guy, this time normally clad, materialized in the yard carrying the two freshly blasted springs. I exchanged 10 quid, entered the ‘transporter chamber’ to be dispatched directly back to planet earth.

A couple of layers of Hammerite and the front springs have been transformed into brand new units. I also suspect as well as hope that because of their ‘age’ and undisclosed provenance they may be slightly softer than present day replacements, as such should be a better alternative. They may be the answer, but only after the car is corner weighed can the true suitability of the complete suspension unit be properly assessed. 

The engine fires!!!

This could be a big day. I had been summoned to fetch two gallons of petrol to Westmead so that the engine could be fired up. Dick had called Chris earlier demanding that they should ‘get the thing going’: and so they did, but not before a few mishaps.

The fuel was poured in and fed through the system revealing the odd leak around the pump plus the carburetors. Not a major problem in itself  but the streaming petrol, just like a spilled drink, looked more like a flood than only a few millimetres of  liquid. Clips were tightened, closely checked after which the offending fuel mopped up. There was a full spark from the new electronic distributor; the fuel needed one last siphoned suck from Dick to signal that the engine was ready to be started. The ignition switch was thrown; the starter button gently pressed, the Burlington jumped into life burbling and thumping, strikingly reminiscent of a big old straight four. Mon bloody Dieu! Suddenly there was smoke emerging from behind the dash under the scuttle, somewhere along the loom a wire had gone to earth burning out by more than a metre of filament. Luckily, Dick was sharp enough to cut the power by removing one of the loosely held battery terminals thus limiting the damage. So rapid was the spread that seconds later the entire car may have been toast, an electrical fault can be so devastating. 

Once the engine had been running other leakages of oil and water had been exposed mainly from the front mounted cooler as well as another one from the side core plugs. Dick swiftly embraced the crisis by replacing the burnt out earth, tightened the oil cooler connectors and tapped in the core plug. The engine sparked back in to life grumbling, plodding rhythmically, the oil pressure flickered at 70, the fuel gauge hardly lifted, but eventually rose softly; the rest of the other gauges slowly breathed life. Chris and Dick stepped back to enjoy the moment. It’s nearly time to open a tin of chunks.  

Rubber trim

                          Burlington Diary October 2008

Weds.01.10.08. With good intentions I set off for Appley Bridge with the rusting Mk3 Spitfire front springs, the exact provenance of which I have not the faintest idea, but somewhere along the way we have acquired this particular pair. To return to the Thunderdome where almost two years ago we had the chassis sandblasted by two amiable alien creatures: a father and son operation that really was not of this century or planet. But, to my astonishment the developers have taken over: instead of the lunar landscape, giants’ sandpit, rusting machinery inhabited by leather clad, goggle eyed extra terrestrials there was an up market low density housing complex. I did ask a local fellow where the ‘beings’ had moved to but he did not seem to know. Perhaps they have returned to their home planet to holiday with Michael from Mars, enjoying roll ups with cups of tea. But not to be defeated I searched out a proper Wigan ‘blaster’ near Miry lane, who uncannily has a striking resemblance to Dave and Billy of Thunderdome fame. They must all inhale equal amounts of the same noxious materials possessing the same mannerisms, tics, squints, three fingers, two teeth, heavily contoured, weathered skin. The springs will be ready tomorrow at a cost of £10.00, tantamount to daylight robbery but with a little painting plus fettling they should look like brand new.

I have also begun to trim the rubber cockpit surround with the leather having rescued the material from the original prototype. I came up with the ingenious idea of threading a brush steel inside the split of the rubber which enabling the fabric to be stretched evenly along the outer edge. Removing the poles it was then a matter of applying glue to the inside edge folding in the outer strips then returning the poles to wedge the leather firmly in position. Once the glue has set the poles can be removed, repeating the process with the other portion of trim.

The people at Brabbin and Rudd must be well pissed off by now as every time I visit I request the tiniest of orders, yet dreadfully complicated. I usually spend 20 minutes in the store exchanging no more than two quid for an assortment of nuts, washers and bolts. Today was no exception; 4x M80x60 SS bolts to secure the pancakes to the carburettor manifold, 2xM6 decorative SS domed nut and matching washers to form the decorative fastening of the dash board. The total was £2.60; I had confused my faithful, long suffering store man, Colin Sturgeon so much he had forgotten to include the threaded bar the most expensive item on the list.