Cracks papered over?

“What do you think you are doing? This needs to be sorted, come back, straight away!” At least he’d got that bit right, this most definitely needed to be resolved. Opening the garage door I was again met with a torrent of abuse. “Nobody but nobody slams a door in my face, look, look I can quite easily drop this project, and I will if you are going to behave like that; and another thing, what was that snide comment you made in the Oak last night “the pen is mightier than the mouth”, they were all fuckin’ laughing at me when you had gone. I don’t expect a mate to stab me in the back like that with clever friggin’ remarks. You have the nerve to storm off just because I ask you to make another poxy list! What’s all that about!....….It is difficult, even in the best circumstances to discuss anything with Chris, he is not a listener. I did manage to mention that I had always been appreciative of his work but I felt that re-writing another fuckin’ list was yet another pointless exercise I had been asked to fulfil. I looked around the garage at the many ‘programmes of work’ I had needlessly produced, there to be totally ignored, the endless deadlines that had been grossly under estimated and the chaotic, muddled working conditions contradicted by empty promises of don’t worry, ‘things will be tidied up’. Was I in the right or in the wrong, a caring compassionate friend or a big soft ‘wuss’? I really did not know.

After I had apologised for my irrational behaviour a tense fragile calm prevailed from which I was dispatched to Brabbin and Rudd for the bolt that Colin wanted to finish the dry build of the handbrake mechanism. My other duties for the day were to collect the two engine panels from Catterall and Wood that had been dressed by Alan and, of course, draft another more specific, detailed order for Jigsaw Racing. I have had a personal character fault for as long as can remember to which Jo, over the years, has attempted to rectify, she has continually encouraged me to address this woeful trait. 

I have always thought I have shown tremendous loyalty but furthermore complete respect to true friends as well as pointedly avoiding the tossers  and wankers of this world. But when I feel let down even slightly betrayed by someone close my immediate reaction is to blank out the problem, to walk away, to regress into a mega-sulk, perversely yet inevitably choosing never to actually confront the problem. This was another example of such a circumstance. As the day wore on, either on the road or bashing the keys I could not rationalise the events of the morning. Conflicting thoughts rattled around my baffled, tormented mind manifesting themselves as either vacuous stares or fluctuating gloomy bleak moods. Were the cracks beginning to show, was the marriage over to be destined for the grabbing lawyers or sucking shrinks? Was the project doomed? Or was it because, as I have always been told in the past, that I am a temperamental, thin skinned, stubborn, bloody-minded, self centred Scorpio. Bollocks, I think not, but then I wouldn’t.        

Luckily the working day had improved every ones mood. The letters had been prepared and written for Rimmers, Chic Doig and Jigsaw, the panels collected from Alan, which were thankfully greeted with obvious delight  because they had been superbly crafted, Colin had created another piece of engineering magic by designing then building the handbrake mechanism, meanwhile Chris had built up the steering column and rack. Everyone in the team appeared very satisfied. Chris proudly showed me the work confessing begrudgingly that we should, never, never, ever, ever ‘fall out’ again. “Let’s draw a line under it, forget it and move on, I hate anything like this”. C’est moi aussi.

The first team was out in the Oak. David and Adele, Emma, Lowtie, Chris, Jimmy the Axe, Danny and Katie, Robert, Jamie and the girl with the big tits, Tim and Doctor Dave. The guest of honour had also arrived travelling up safely in a Virgin Express train from the ‘Smoke’. It was Knockers new chick, Nikki. Andy Lewis was also propping up the bar soaking up the gentle banter, cosy bon amie, chatting casually to both Mad John and Knocker. We were introduced to Nikki who was, as ‘Clubber’ had indicated, very talkative, having red ‘funky’ hair, a petite frame, face and feet; she worked for the immigration services in Weybridge. After careful observation I realised that Nikki, Knocker, Lewis and Mad John were edging toward the main group. It was clear that Knocker could now coolly deliver his trump card informing David that he would call around tomorrow to ensure the horses had been fed, that Chris had completed the service on his Merc, Tim had ‘made ready’ his boat, Doctor Dave had picked up his ‘whistle’ from the cleaners and it was of course ok for me to holiday in his house in Provence. Knocker had bagged a ‘bullshit full house’ in one fell swoop. 

The day has ended on a happier note than it had begun. I was completely over my sulk, which relieved Jo, but I had also surprised myself. Chris, thankfully, had significantly lowered his blood pressure, with the aid of six pints of ‘Stella’. I legitimately feel that this unsavoury passage is probably behind us.

The first day of stripping the Burlington

Fri.17.03.06. We have bravely committed to a second day of examination of the cars’ basic structural condition. It is St Patrick’s Day when traditionally anyone who has even the slightest whisper of a connection with the Emerald Isle has a strong obligation to throw a ‘sicky’, sing monotonous Irish ballads with the sole intention of getting momentously pissed. I wonder if this will be significant. The piercing wind unrelenting biting cold are still with us but at least today there is sufficient daylight so we can see what we are doing. The project is still in the balance because of the possibility of the warped tub. During the morning we pressed on with the removal of the wings and nose cone. I think Chris was very impressed with the huge range of nuts, bolts, screws and fasteners that I had used on the car. He was particularly astonished at their different sizes notably how appropriate they were for the job. But, because of their diversity as well as lacking the relevant ‘Imperial’ spanners in our extensive toolbox, we had to revert to the all-embracing applications of the angle grinder to remove many of the corroded nuts and bolts. I had made such an outstanding job of fixing the parts that it was often impossible to release them in the conventional manner. It was a successful day but still there remains the big question as to whether or not we should proceed. Even though there was much removed from the car we still couldn’t reposition the tub to make sure that there could be correct alignment. I am still quite depressed at the thought of abandoning the car, but the boss will have the last word, as such it will be the sensible decision.

In the Oak the celebrations for Patrick’s night were underway. I thought that the only place to steer clear of the dreadful Irish banging on about fucking convicts, potato famine, being screwed by the British and other crimes against those lovely, charming Irish gypos would be the Oak, but unfortunately not. Coinciding with our time of arrival of 6.05, Doctor Dave sparked up with the Rivers of Appin Rye from Galway Bay in 1842, in the key of Z, by 6.25 and 35 verses later he’d finished. Fuck me, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid. So much so that I stayed until 12.30am.

Midway through the evening Chris had subtly tapped up Dave Brown, who as well as being a fireman is an excellent carpenter, to fashion the dashboard of the car. This was forward planning at it’s best; we had not even determined whether or not the project would be ‘off the ground’ when he was blagging him into a meeting tomorrow to measure the prospective difficulties of turning a gearstick from a solid piece of mahogany. I have got to hand it Chris, he could probably also sell “how not to be a complete moronic twat” to Liam Gallagher subsequently converting him to Christianity.

Tomorrow is ‘D day’. It could be the budding prospect of creating a wonderful car or filling a skip full of rusty metal