It’s nearly 18 months since I last attended the local meeting of the TVR Car Club. They did meet last month but I didn’t go because I had
been up for most of the previous night dissolving into a toilet, so the prospect of driving for an hour, devoid of such facilities, only
to have lunch and replenish the reservoir, didn’t appeal.
But today, we’re in fine fettle so off we go - in a Porsche! I’ve arranged to meet up with Dave, but Jim’s not going - he’s on holiday
again. Look out for his new travel series on BBC2, coming soon!
When we arrive at the venue, Hugh’s car is sitting in the middle of the car park with the bonnet up. He explains that it has been hesitating
on its way down the road but just sputtered to a stop and now won’t start again.
We have no tools, no test meter, no bits of wire to bypass relays etc, not even a match. Game on!
First job is to see if the fuel pump is running, but we can’t hear above the general chat around us - mostly the running commentary by
Hugh himself. After imposing the “crowd silence” that you see on to of a pile of rubble after an earthquake, we confirm that the fuel pump
isn’t going when you switch on the ignition.
We take the wheel off so that we can hit the pump with the wheel brace, to shock it into action, but no joy.
Ok… fuses and relays. I remove each relay and check they aren’t burnt, or the terminals corroded. Then I check the fuse layout on my phone
and look at the fuel pump and fuel injection fuses - aha! One of them is burnt out.
Pop in a new fuse, turn it over and it starts!
During all of this, we have to endure helpful suggestions from a guy from the hotel who labours under the Jeremy Clarkson impression that
TVRs break down all the time. I’m afraid that I may have appeared to be slightly less than tolerant of this slavering pish, especially
after ascertaining that he had never owned a TVR in his life.
Anyway, on to lunch, which takes ages to order, and then almost an hour to arrive. It is very good though! We’re in a different room, where
the tables are smaller so there’s a bit more mixing. We hear of a Tuscan that was bought new 15 years ago, is used a LOT, and has done 40,000
since then. Whoop-de-do! Try buying a TVR that has done 50-odd thousand miles already, and then sticking another 50-odd thousand miles on it
over 18 years. THAT’s a LOT!
The chat is generally good though, but soon it’s time to head home. We escort Hugh some of the way home, before we turn off to our own route.
Hugh phones later to report that he got home safely. Dave and Andrew’s breakdown service succeeds again!
We've decided to have another wee day trip since the last one was so good. We meet up at Dave's at 8 am, and after the usual banter, we're off
towards the River Forth and the kingdom of Fife.
Fife might not have been that much of a kingdom if old King Malcom had decided that he didn't want his serfs charging about on their horse-drawn
wagons at breakneck speeds, and had decided to install gazillions of axle-breaking speed bumps every 20 feet along every road he could find.
Plus, the pilgrimages to St Margaret's shrine in Dunfermline might have been a wee bit less popular, so the idea of a ferry across the Forth
in the first place might never have taken off, especially if the various leaders of the day knocked it back because it would only increase the number
of horse carts anyway.
Which is why modern pilgrims drive huge eco-polluting Range Rovers - you can stick your speed bumps where the sun don't shine if you have
something like that...
Where was I? Oh yes, we make our way along the Fife coast at an average speed of under 30 miles per hour, until we reach Largo, where Robinson
Crusoe came from. No feckin wonder he was happy for years on a desert island - you can't even get a bacon roll... So, it's onwards through
St Andrews to a wee snack bar on the other side, where the rolls are fresh and the bacon is sizzled to perfection.
Then it's onwards to the Tay Bridge where we meet up with Hugh and his dog, then Jim leads us through Dundee and out the other side, making
sure, of course (as any gentleman would) to slow down if we get separated in traffic, so that everyone can catch up and the group can reform
before continuing together.
We head through Arbroath, Montrose and Stonehaven, before cutting off westwards to Banchory, where Jim finds a nice garden centre and cafe for
a nice wee lunch.
The it's my turn to lead, as we continue west to Ballater and Braemar. The traffic is getting a wee bit busier, but not bad considering that
it's a bank holiday. We're able to make good progress, although (as any gentleman would) I make sure, of course. to slow down if we get
separated after overtaking caravans or tractors, so that everyone can catch up and the group can reform before continuing together.
The plan is to drive on to Blairgowrie for a wee cake or a scone, but it's nearly 4pm, and by the time we get there, all the cake shops etc
will be shut, so I make an executive decision (only partly bladder-related) to stop at the Glenshee ski centre instead. It's not busy, and
the cakes are lovely! We give up the chance of a ride up the chairlift to the top of the mountain.
Then it's on towards Blairgowrie, with Hugh leading. The roads are still not busy, but there are a few slower-moving vehicles to pass. Hugh,
of course (as any gentleman wouldn't) makes sure to bugger off into the distance as soon as he passes anything, so that everyone else has to
drive out of their skin but still can't catch up. The other 3 of us reform before continuing together, with occasional glimpses of a wee
blue dot in the distance.
We manage to more or less get it together by the time we leave Blairgowrie, only to be separate again by a balloon in a BMW tanky-thing who
pulls out of a junction in a 50 limit, and then dawdles along at 30-ish while she farts about with whatever she farts about with after pulling
out of junctions. When we leave the 50 limit, she floors it. So do I. she looks pretty pissed off in the mirror. Oh well.
We stop for petrol in Perth, just outside the prison, Then after saying cheerio to Hugh, we head back down the road through Glenfarg and
on to the motorway for the last bit.
All good fun. Again, all of the cars behaved faultlessly, except for my gear lever being a tiny bit loose again. Oh and the bonnet springing
open after one particular tank-trap in Aberdour. Oh and a chirping canary somewhere over on the passenger side. But other than that, faultless.
We take the wheel off so that we can hit the pump with the wheel brace, to shock it into action, but no joy.