:: Tuesday, August 4, 2015 ::
A couple of jobs to do on the car before I use it next. First, the seal along the bottom of the driver’s side window is hanging off. In typical TVR standards, it’s just glued on to the edge of the door, with a contact patch about 1mm wide, so if it start to peel off, it keeps going!
So armed with a tube of Evo-stik and a lolly stick (it was a white chocolate magnum that gave its life so that my TVR can live. It was delicious) I head along to the farm, to be cornered by John who shows me the Hillman Minx custom he is building, and then launches into a diatribe about scrap metal, track rod ends, woodworm, dog shows and smoking. You can see the structure of that, eh?
Anyway, when my ears have stopped bleeding, I stick the trim back on the door in about 5 minutes.
The second job is the windscreen wipers - the blades are falling to bits. I need to measure the length so that I can buy new ones. 16 inches, ok got it.
:: Sunday, August 9, 2015 ::
It has been dry for almost a whole week. Today it’s cloudy and threatening rain. This can mean only one thing. Yes, I’m taking the TVR out to the monthly meeting. I had a look back through the web site, and the last time I used the car without it getting rained on, was in January - and it was freezing then! The time before that, was last September…
Anyway, I go along to the farm to collect the car. It’s early o’clock, and although they say “any time after 8 am”, I’m obviously too early, half an hour later, so there’s a delay getting the key (I don’t have a key to the barn, they keep it and hand it out to people they know. If anybody turns up that they don’t know, well they’ve got 9 dogs in various sizes, and they make a helluva racket at strangers, to supplement the security lights and alarm. Fortunately, I’m on their “recognised” list so haven’t been torn to bits yet.)
I extract the car from under its dust sheet, which, I notice, is ancient and is starting to fall to bits, so it’s creating more dust than it prevents. When I get back to the house, I attach the new wipers what I buyed (buying them was an episode in itself, but what do you expect when you go to Halfords?) and then set about giving the car a clean. Check the oil, check the water (you live and learn) and we’re ready to go! Oh, remember to put fuel in this time as well…
First stop is Dave’s, to meet up with Jim. There’s another short delay while Dave swaps cars - he was going to bring the wedge but the clutch has just stopped working, so he’s S-ing it as well. Next stop - petrol again (Dave’s second fill-up this morning).
Within a few miles, I’m reminded yet again how feckin brilliant this wee car is - that is, once I’ve got used to having a steering wheel that connects directly to the front wheels. I’ve been using the Range Rover a lot, and in that, you have to send a telegram from the bridge to the engine room to turn 30 degrees in 5 minutes, the steering takes so long to react - that and the fact that it has about 25 turns lock-to-lock. As a result, the first few corners in the TVR almost have me driving up the verge, it turns so quickly. No swoopy bends at first - they are negotiated like threepenny bits until my head catches up.
12 years, and I still forget how good a TVR S is!
We arrive at the hotel, to a much-depleted turn-out. Our Regional Organiser is on holiday, so that half of the club hasn’t turned up. However, there’s a “new boy” in a Cerbera, which is very nice.
We all have a very pleasant lunch, with staff being quite chatty (the owner’s investment in charm school is clearly paying dividends). Hugh has brought a “Motor Sport” magazine from 1945, and it’s really interesting to see how drastically journalistic styles have changed. I mean, there’s hardly any pictures, it’s full of words! Big words, as well! There’s an article, for example, on suspension, and spring rates and damper settings - with physics diagrams and formulae and stuff.
The letters page is also a hoot - “Dear Sir, I write with reference to your interesting recent feature covering the conversion of Fraser Nash brakes from cable to hydraulic operation. I have recently carried out this conversion, armed with only a penknife and a small pair of tweezers, and I would respectfully suggest that your writer has somewhat over-complicated the procedure. I shall forward some photographs of my car, the instant that it is returned from the coachbuilders following its recent excursion into the landscape when descending the Col de Turino while returning from St Moritz. I am, sir, yours sincerely. (Capt) Budley Saltington-Twizzle, GC DCM REME (Retd)”
I was going to provide a similar letter, for comparison, from a more modern publication, but they don’t have a letters page. Even the articles are written for a reading age of about 6 (so are still a bit complicated for Sun readers). That’s evolution for you. Or reverse Darwinism.
Anyway, we eventually disperse outside (where it’s still not raining!) where Hugh wants me to look at play in the steering - he’s not sure if its the bulkhead bearing or the top universal joint. When you feel it, though, there’s a tiny bit of play in the UJ, but a lot more play in the splines between the UJ and the bottom steering arm. The bolt is tight, so the splines are knacked. The joint needs changed anyway, so I advise him to try that first, and see if the new one has better splines. I also point out that the joints on either end of the steering rod are “out of phase” so the UJs are having to cope with more movement than they should.
Next, Cerbera-man is telling somebody that his car doesn’t overheat (in the sense of boiling over or losing water) but the gauge sits at 90 and sometimes rises to 100. I tell him that the gauges are very unreliable, so he should check it with a separate temperature gauge to see what the real temperature is. He says he’s had that done and it was fine. I tell him not to worry about it then, knowing full well that’s not going to help at all - I spent more time in my Cerb watching the temperature gauge than the speedo, or anything else…
Next (well, first, because this was before lunch), a man rebuilding his Chimaera can’t get the clutch to work - he’s bled it and bled it, but it’s still not working. I remember reading somewhere, years ago, about a man fitting a new slave cylinder to a Land Rover (it’s the same part!) and it wouldn’t bleed because it was upside-down with the bleed screw at the bottom, where it’s easier to reach under the car. It’s also impossible to bleed unless the bleed screw is at the top…
I notice that Dave is dispensing advice to a couple of others at the same time.
So with the technical help session over, everybody gets bored so we all set off for home. Another great drive (with cornering a bit smoother by this time). The car goes back to the farm, and is parked up in its beddy-baws.
I jump back in the Range Rover and nearly drive up the verge on the first corner, because the bloody thing has no turn-in.
:: Tuesday, August 11, 2015 ::
The wonders of Google. No sooner do you mention a letter written in the style of 1945, than you attract some nutter thinking you’ve got nothing better to do than read their rambling pish. No, I write the rambling pish, ok?
Anyway, This letter says, “Sir, I am pleased to inform you that the updated entries to your internet web page provided me with some most jocular entertainment during my break for luncheon this very day. However, may I take the opportunity to suggest that you may at some point consider investing in a replacement calendar, as the frequency of updates is seldom regular and thus causes disappointment on a most disappointedly regular occurrence.
Yours, Squadron Leader Gizzahandwithesebrakeswouldya”
I don’t half get them…
I decide to humour the eejit and reply in kind, “Dear Sir, thank you for your uncharacteristically lucid missive. I am indeed gratified to learn that your enjoyment of these ramblings, albeit irregular, remains undiminished. One endeavours, at all times, to ensure that any news of automotive progress (or, in the more normal course of events, regression) is transcribed without delay, but when one is perched on the verandah with a port and lemon, and the punka-wallah is waving the fan so hard that his arms are but a blur, it can be difficult to recall that one's original objective was to clear the surrounding swamp. And so it goes on. Rest assured, however, that any progress will continue to be reported in proper journalistic fashion.
Yours etc, Rear-Admiral Charles Haudon-Whitwisthat RN (retd)
I also received today another letter - a full valuation of the Porsche, for the insurance. This proves to be much higher than I expected, I’ll be scared to use it. Naaah, fuck it… How can you enjoy a car when it’s wrapped in cotton wool in an airtight heated bubble? Good news though… Although hang on, maybe this is just another nutter wind-up?
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