“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.
