:: Diary - April 2018 ::

:: Thursday, April 5, 2018 ::

Yes, I'm still alive.

The car has basically been in storage since it came back from the TVR cal club meeting in November.

You know how you have a list of jobs to be completed over the winter? Well so did I.

Total jobs completed over the winter = zero. Never mind though...

This weekend we are heading off for the opening event of the TVR Car Club season, at Burghley House near Peterborough. That's around 350 miles each way, so obviously, extensive preparation is required.

I take advantage of a suitable weather window and head along to the barn to collect the TVR where it has languished under a huge sheet (It was snowing like a bastard yesterday, it looked like the set for "The Revenant" or something, but today it's not so bad.)

It starts no problem, and as is customary, it runs like a wet fart while its cold. I bring it back and chuck it in the garage at the house (now that the Porsche is along at the barn - keeping up here?) because I don't have any time tonight to look at it.


:: Friday, April 6, 2018 ::

Right, time for extensive pre-flight checks before our trip this weekend.

I wash it. I dry it.

I forget what else.

Oh yes. I check the oil, and put about 250ml of oil in. Water level is fine. Tyre pressures are fine.

Last job - the passenger side mirror is a wee bit loose so I tighten it up with an Allen key.

I pack some cleaning stuff including detailer and metal polish. I pack some tools.

Ready!


:: Saturday, April 7, 2018 ::

I spent more time last night having a shower and packing my own stuff, than I spent on the car yesterday. So with both of us equally ill-prepared, it's time to set off to fuel up and then meet Dave and Jim. After the customary exchanges of pleasantries, we set off at around 9am for our odyssey south.

With Jim in the lead, we head around Edinburgh and down the A1. It's freezing cold but it's not raining, so the roofs are off. We're not Chimaera drivers after all. After a fantastic drive around the coast, we stop just south of Berwick for a modest breakfast. While we are scoffing, Adrian gets in touch and says that he will join on to the back of our wee convoy as we pass under the A61 north of Wetherbey, in around 90 minutes time. He only has 15 minutes drove to reach that same point. What can possibly go wrong?

We refuel and set off on the second leg, with me in the lead this time. After a few miles, the rain comes on, but I make the decision that we will get wetter if we stop, so it's better to just keep going.

Down the A1 we go, through Newcastle and past Warrington, Durham etc. Oh, here's the A61 junction, about 10 minutes later than we said we would be. No sign of Adrian. Quel surprise...

We stop at the next services (Wetherby) so that we can phone or text to see where he is. He's a mile from his house with a dead car. Dave and I try to diagnose the fault from around 30 miles away, but it's not easy, I can tell you. He decides to use up another one of his AA lifes, and we decide to bash on without him. Pals eh?

Then we get to the bit where the A1 and M1 separate. I have a moment of uncertainty, a moment that last just long enough to ensure that I don't get into the right lane, so end up going down the M1. About 100 yards later I realise that I am heading to Wentworth, as we did last time, and not Burghley, as we should be this time. Bugger, bugger and thrice bugger.

The sat nav is still packed safely in the boot where it can serve no useful purpose whatsoever, so then I start looking for destinations that I know are between the M1 and the A1. After travelling a million miles in the wrong direction, I see a sign for "Worksop" so head for there - then through there back to the A1. No harm done except for the extra gazillion miles travelled.

Another harm done, is that I'm sure Dave's car must be getting low on fuel by this time, and we haven't developed a system for in-flight refuelling, so I stop for fuel. We ask for directions to the American Diner, but they have never heard of it.

Onward! Dave takes over the lead for this last leg, passing the secret American Diner (because its getting late) and onward to the hotel.

We get parked up, and decide to clean the cars tomorrow.


But we all know, don't we, that Dave won't be able to sleep while his car is dirty, and right enough, he's back out after about 30 minutes, cleaning the car and wheels.

Then some clown comes in and ignores a half-empty car park, and squeezes his VW Golf in between our cars. I watch from my room window as he gets out - it's Adrian! And not in a TVR!

We all meet up for our dinner, and of course, the first topic of conversation is, of course "Where is Adrian's car". He explains that the AA man turned up, and fiddled with some fuses and relays, and lo and behold - it started! Adrian, natch, decided that discretion is the better part of valour, so took the TVR home and came down in his Golf. I mean, you'd have to be mental to set off on a long trip in a car that might go wrong at any moment, right? I'm glad I carried out the extensive pre-flight checks yesterday.

The conversation soon moves on to the usual range of other topics, including the fact that we have ordered from the menu we were given, which none of the kitchen staff appear to have heard of. Our second order is delivered without fuss though, and is actually pretty good.

While we are blethering after eating, one of the event organisers, who is sharing the hotel, comes over to ask what TVR models we have - mainly to ask Dave about his 350 Wedge, and if he would get there early to put it on the timeline of all models produced by TVR. The she asks what I have, and says they don't have an S3C so can I take mine as well? They've got plenty V8S models so Jim doesn't get an invite.

This means an early breakfast, and also leaving earlier than we had planned.

Time for bed, said Zebedee!


:: Sunday, April 8, 2018 ::

It's showtime!

Well almost. First I have to get this thing from "just dug out of a barn and driven 350 miles" to "decent show condition for the timeline" before breakfast. Lucky I washed it before I left!

Main thing are the wheels - while they are clean, they're not very shiny, so I go round them all with metal polish. No time for the full 2-hours-a-wheel job, they each only get 10 minutes. Better, but not great.

Then it's back in for breakfast, before Dave and I set off. There's another 3 or 4 cars going from our hotel to the timeline, so they graciously allow us to join their convoy. They set off, we set off, drive like boats to catch up, then we get to the venue, where they convince themselves that they have come in the wrong gate, and leave again to drive round to the other gate. Dave carries on up the drive, and based on the knowledge that he's been on the timeline a few times before, I follow him. We arrive at the right place about 10 minutes before our leaders, but say nothing...

So now, it's out with the detailer and cloths for an all-over clean, before the show starts. It looks pretty good!


Here we are, among the other S-Series!


And here's the setting of Burghley House.


The new TVR Griffith is here, and makes a grand entrance during the day. It's very nice, it sounds good, but it's not for me...


It's a kind of light rain drizzle most of the day, but it gets a wee bit heavier after lunch time, and people start to head off, We are told that we can leave after around 2 pm, rather than 5 as originally required. We are standing around waiting for a photo op after everybody has left, and while we are chatting, I notice 3 owners standing between my car and the next one.

After a bit, I notice that 2 of them are leaning on the side of my car while they chat.

What to do? Well, Debrett's book of social etiquette suggests that "in a case where a gentleman of equal or higher status (whom one would expect to understand the value of the possessions of others) parks one's arse against another's carriage, the owner of the carriage has a number of options, ranging from a challenge to pistols at dawn, to ignoring this breach of normal acceptable behaviour". The best response, it suggests, is simply to relocate one's carriage elsewhere, out of range of denim-clad arses, quietly and without fuss (insofar as it is possible to do it quietly in a TVR with a recalcitrant cold engine).

Shortly after that, when everyone has disappeared, we line up our cars in front of the house.


Then it's time for the silly hats before we head off.


When we get back to the hotel, we spot this in the car park. This car has just returned from a pub2pub trip, where the owner took a notion for a wee adventure.


First he drove to the northernmost pub in the world, at the north end of Norway. Then back to the UK to ship the car to New York, then drive across the USA to the west coast, then down through Mexico and various countries in South America to the furthest south pub in the world, in Chile. 29,000 miles through 25 countries, since last July, pausing only for a clutch change at a Land Rover repairer in Paraguay. Fantastic!

We're back a lot earlier than expected, so we sit in the bar for a wee refreshment and so that Dave can watch the end of the Grand Prix. Between us and the TV, is a group of school kids, obviously working on an assignment. Dave gets all upset when they stand in front of the screen though, and this results in the quote of the weekend:
"Hoi you, ye'd make a better door than a windae"

The young lad, hearing this Rab-C-Nesbitt barrage, obviously can't make out a word, but clearly realises, from the tone, that he's expected to sit down pronto.

We then chat with Ben, the owner and driver of the Pub2Pub car I talked about earlier - very interesting!

All too soon (but not soon enough for some) it's dinner time again, this time with the correct menus. We enjoy our 3-course snack - even the starter is a meal in itself though.

A few more refreshments and it's time for bed.


:: Monday, April 9, 2018 ::

Today - the journey home.

We set off after a leisurely breakfast, and a quick stop for fuel.

The journey is pretty uneventful - it's freezing cold, but dry, so we make good progress back up the A1 before we stop at Durham in the worst motorway services in the UK. We only have a wee snack though, and another refuel, before we set off again on leg 2, to Dunbar.

Again, a pretty uneventful drive. I'm enjoying everything about this wee car, as we convoy through Newcastle and up the A1 around Berwick and across the border.

We stop at Dunbar for some energy-regenerating cake, before we set off on the final 30-mile leg. Progress is good until we reach the Edinburgh City Bypass, where we slow to a crawl for bloody miles. The last 10 miles take longer than the 50 miles before Dunbar. It's pretty pathetic, really.

Another fandabby weekend with the wee car, which reached 105,000 miles on the way back. I love it. I stick it back in the garage where it will rest, neglected, until the next time I feel like hammering the shit out of it.


:: Sunday, April 15, 2018 ::

It's 15 years today since I bought this wee car. 15 years, 50,000 miles and endless fun. A few hassles along the way but hey - who said relationships were easy?

Today, though, I'm going to a car show with the Sporting Bears in the Chevy. That's the plan. Except it refuses to start - eventually the battery runs out of steam, so I go to jump start it from the Range Rover - still nothing. I check it has fuel to the carb - yep. I check it has a spark - yep. Still no starty.

It's early, I need to go, and I've spent half an hour on this and got nowhere...

I open the garage door and fire up the TVR - first time, as usual. Then I transfer all of the stuff I need from the Chevy, and set off - late...

Travelling in convoys is great. Travelling on your own is good too, though, because you don't have to keep thinking about getting 3 people into a gap or out of a junction. I batter along to the venue, and the wee car is singing!

I've had my money's worth out of this car, no doubt about it!



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