:: Diary - June 2013 ::

:: Saturday, June 1, 2013 ::

Nothing to do with TVRs, but regular readers will recall the epic tale of a Lexus being scraped along a fence, and then the RBS-owned garage (UK Assistance, but I'm not allowed to name them) taking 5 attempts to get the car right, before I gave up.

Well, the car's MOT was yesterday, and I noticed that the front tyres are worn out, so I got them to change them while it was in. Hang on though, are those not the tyres that UK Assistance (oh sorry, I mean the "anonymous accident repair garage) replaced at the time? Yes they are. And how many miles have they done since then? Quick check through mileage log (some of my mileage is rechargeable through my business) reveals that they have done 16,000 miles, which isn't bad, but it's not exactly great either. The last set did 25,000, and the set before that, the same.

I've also noticed, since I've been driving the Porsche a lot, that when I go back to the Lexus, it seems more "wandery" than I remember. Compared to a Porsche, that's maybe not unusual, but it doesn't feel right. I've also been noticing that on full lock (like when going in and out of parking spaces), the front wheels sometimes "judder" as if one of them has a different slip angle from the other.

So I ask the garage to do a full wheel alignment check as well.

The results aren't good. Three of the four wheels are well out of alignment. They can't see any suspension damage though, so they reset the geometry and MOT it.

Driving home, it's like a different car. And so it should be - the price of 2 tyres, a wheel alignment and an MOT is more than I paid for my first 8 cars added together.

My insurance is also due to be renewed today. I phone up their complaints department and point out that an inability to carry out a cosmetically-acceptable repair is one thing, but giving a car back without a basic geometry check is another, so the game is on again. They give me a substantial discount to keep me quiet. I accept the discount and promise to say no more about it.

So I can't mention Privilege Insurance, UK Assistance the repairer, or UK Insurance Ltd (the insurance arm of RBS) because that would mean that I was a liar and had set out to deceive them, and would bring me down to their level.

Fair enough.

:: Sunday, June 2, 2013 ::

Well the Porsche survived its debut show today - the weather was good, and the Sporting Bears Dream Rides went well.

I've now done 1600 miles in it since the middle of March, its 3-month warranty will be up in another week, and the list of faults is endless. I've had to change a headlight bulb, but aside from that, and some tinware somewhere that sometimes rattles just as I'm moving away (it's either airflow ducting around the engine, or more likely, a loose exhaust shield or something), I don't think there's anything else wrong.

And I remembered to wear a hat so my head isn't even sore!

:: Monday, June 3, 2013 ::

Well the plan was to get along to the farm today, and bring the TVR back so that I could give it a spruce up for its holidays. Aye, but the best laid plans o'mice and men, gang aft agley, And leave us nought but grief an' pain, for promis'd joy.

First, I decide to water my garden. I ripped it to shreds with one of those lawn raker things, about 2 weeks ago, since when it hasn't rained. My garden looks like a retreating army has use a flamethrower on it, in a scorched earth policy that would mean that even the enemy's pet bunnys would starve to death.

So, out with the hose and the sprinkler, set it up, give half the garden a good soaking, then move it to the other half.

As I step back to check coverage, I remember, about half a second too late, that there's a bloody huge knee-high plant pot behind me. I reverse into it with boot feet at speed (to avoid the advancing water), and tip over backwards. My arse lands on the edge of the pot, but the top half keeps going. Fortunately, my head is saved from hitting the concrete path, by the timely intervention of my front door step.

While I am lying there for a second, trying to figure out if it's safe to move, I feel the back of my head and find a hole, and blood. Lots of it. Then the sprinkler reverses direction and soaks me. This waters the blood down so it's now everywhere…

There's nobody else in the house for another 3 hours, so I don't want to go in, so I turn up next door looking like an extra from "Zombie Chainsaw Massacre III" - he rushes me up to the hospital where I wait a whole hour before anybody sees me. Thank God they give priority to head injuries or I might be there yet.

And so, almost 2 hours after the mishap, I return home with my head stapled together, and water pishing down the street because the sprinkler's still going, missing half the garden and soaking the road. And I've knocked two tiles off the doorstep.

And I really must learn not to be a gloating smartarse. What was I saying yesterday about my head not hurting?

:: Sunday, June 9, 2013 ::

After spending the first half of the week dazed and… am… what was I saying? Oh yes - disorientated, and the second half with more work than I really wanted, I manage to get along to the farm to bring back the TVR. It starts first time, as usual, although I notice that one of the rear tyres looks soft. When I get back, I punp it back up and put the car away.

I need to get it tidied up - I've got bags of time though, no hurry...

:: Friday, June 14, 2013 ::

After a week, here's what jobs I've managed to progress on the TVR.

Sod all.

So today, I get started, by cleaning it with detailer (it's dusty but not dirty), and then giving it a rub down with paint cleaner. That improves the shine, but if I rub my hand on the paint, especially the bonnet, it feels really rough.

So I decide it's time for clay bar - it's been years since I did it last (I could look top the diary to see exactly, but I can't be arsed). After rubbing the car all over with plasticene, it feels a lot smoother and looks a lot shinier.

Next step - wax! Tomorrow.

:: Sunday, June 16, 2013 ::

Didn't get out to the car yesterday, so my priority today is… to go to watch the Superbikes with my son.

:: Monday, June 17, 2013 ::

Finally! I get the car waxed and polished. It takes most of the day, between work and phone calls. This is largely because, after I've polished it, it still feels like sandpaper. It's still smoother than the Lexus repair, but it's as rough as hell. So out comes the clay bar kit, and more shares in detailer spray. After I've clayed the whole body, I polish it, then wax it, and now it's as smooth as a baby's wossname.

This emphasises how matt and manky the wheels look. So they are next.

Then the interior. Then the engines bay. Oh and the windows. And the hood.

How am I going to get this done in time? I wonder if Adrian's free?

:: Wednesday, June 19, 2013 ::

Yesterday passed in a blur of work and other shit, so again I didn't get on with the car.

Today, though, it's on to the wheels. First I give them a wash, then a rub down with a (pretty worn-out) scotchbrite pad and soapy water. Once I've dried them out, I give them a polish, and they come up right nice. Not exactly a full refurb standard, but pretty presentable.

Still quite a few jobs to do, but I have to stop for today because I've got visitors.

:: Thursday, June 20, 2013 ::

Got a wee bit of a flyer at the car today. First I clean up the engine bay, including the hoses and wring, and most of the bulkhead. Then I polish the back of the exhausts, and notice that the rear rubber mounting is pulling through the mounting hole. I make up a spacer with a 10 mm hole for the bolt, but wide enough not to pull through the mount, then replace the rubbers and bolt it all back together. That takes bleeding ages, but I'm glad I noticed it.

I clean up the rubber bumpers with tyre gel, and polish up the headlight rims. They're getting past their best though, I really need new one. Not in time for the weekend though.

Nearly there. Windows and roof to clean, and the interior could do with a clean as well. But that's it, I don't have time to get it any better.

:: Friday, June 21, 2013 ::

Finished!

Clean windows

defluff roof

clean interior - vinyl and seats

check water,oil, tyres

Pack stuff in boot - tools, can of petrol, usual stuff. Oh and some clothes.

:: Saturday, June 22, 2013 ::

A small select group of us intrepid (and ever so slightly deranged) S-owners have organised a wee trip for this weekend. In years past, we have made the trip to S-Club in the middle of England (well, they say it's the middle, it still seems pretty far down to me). Last year, due to organisational issues, it was cancelled and moved to the August Bank holiday. This was after we had booked our rooms etc.

This year, S-Club is again on a Bank Holiday weekend - this is after I had said "please don't make us drive all the way through Englandshire on "Mad Saturday" and then back on "Loony Monday". August Bank Holiday weekend it is, then… so we decided that we would have our own alternative, where we could enjoy the drive. So we have planned a 550-mile trip through the Scottish Highlands, starting near Edinburgh and finishing near Inverness today. Tomorrow we take a tour finishing at Fort William, and then home via the west coast on Monday.

Yes, we actually have a plan!

And it's typical. Just bleeding typical. The last time I used the TVR, on May 16, it was pishing down rain. Since that day, there has been nothing - I know, because I raked moss out of my grass the following day, and I've been waiting for it to rain to rejuvenate the scalped stubble I had left. No rain for 5 weeks is a record for the Mojave desert, never mind Scotland.

But as soon as you perform the ritual rain-dance of opening the garage door to take the TVR out - whoosh, it pishes down.

Undaunted, I head off for our meeting place, pausing only to go to fill up a fuel can, and then for cash in case I need to bribe an AA man as well. We meet at a petrol station for last-minute top-ups (of fuel, and Jim's caffeine gland) and a blether. While we are waiting, Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top drives in for petrol. Times are obviously hard, because he's traded in the Eliminator for a Fiat 500 Popular, and he's looking decidedly scruffy. He certainly ain't no sharp dressed man. His girlfriend sits in the car so we can't see if she's got legs, or indeed, if she knows how to use them.

And so at last, off we go, with Jim in the lead. No, that's not a misprint, Jim is going to lead us to our first stop. He is confident that he can find the Forth Road Bridge from 7 miles away. Given that it's so high that you can see it from 10 miles away, it's not that much of a challenge, but we'll give the boy his due… As we head up the motorway, we are overtaken by a motorbike cop on a slip road that turns back on itself and turns right, by going in a full circle to the left. The bike comes alongside and starts to cough and splutter. The biker is torn between trying to look cool alongside us, trying to find out what's wrong, and trying to stay on the bloody thing. Once the road straightens up, his engine sorts itself out so he fucks off sharpish so that we can relax and start laughing.

Jim's expeditionary training pays off, and we find the Forth Road Bridge on our first pass.

On the other side of the bridge, we stop in a lay-by to meet Phil, who turns up after 5 minutes or so, in a cloud of steam and a puddle of brown liquid. The bonnet is lifted and all becomes clear. The cap is missing off the swirl pot. Fortunately, it has managed to land itself upside-down on top of the battery, in exactly the position you would put it if you had been, say, topping up the cooling system yesterday. How lucky is that? A quick refill with water, tighten the cap, and we're off again!

While Phil is footering around with hot engines and cold water, the rest of us help by taking our roofs off, now that the rain has stopped, and then admiring the very rare and very expensive classic Bugattis that are touring in the area, and seem to have picked today to go south over the Forth Bridge. We are outclassed, trumped into a corner.

Right, with engine re-Philled, we set off again, to meet up with John another 5 miles north. He joins our convoy seamlessly from a slip road - the Red Arrows couldn't have done better. All we need is a smoke trail - no wait, I had better not speak too soon.

Soon it's absolutely bucketing down, proving that our weather forecasting skills are no better than the BBC's. Some poor sod has managed to turn his BMW onto its roof just after a particularly watery bend, but police and rescue are in attendance so we bash on.

Then its off the motorway, through the edge of Perth and up towards Blairgowrie, where we stop for tea and scones and teacakes in a wee roadside cafe. A man parked nearby comes over for a look - turns out he has a 1984 Porsche 911 Turbo. The others piss off into a cafe and leave me to it.

Onwards again, until Jim's car stops unexpectedly, as he's half-way past a bus. He manages to pull into the side though, so that the bus has to go round him, so it's not too bad. After we've turned round and regrouped, Jim's car starts again, no problem. Very mysterious. Anyway, off we go again, with me in front. Big mistake.

The one bit of the planned route that I'm not sure about, is the bit through Blairgowrie. I manage to miss the left turn (almost completely unsigned, I'll say in my defence) and lead everybody on a wee tour of a nearby car park. Then I shoot off again, up the right road, looking for somewhere to re-group. While studying the parking restrictions, I manage to miss a second big fuck-off-sized left turn sign, and stop about 200 yards round the corner, while everybody else turns left behind me. My alternative route choice only becomes apparent when the others reach a wee hotel about 10 miles away, and I'm not there.

Anyway, suitably re-grouped and with roofs replaced (or did we take them off here? I can't remember - by this stage they were on and off like a tart's drawers) we set off again.

Now here's another thing that gets on my tits (one of an ever-increasing list). See when you stop at traffic signals over a narrow bridge, then just as the signals change to green, two motorcycles push past into the gap and expect you not to kill them? Well, wouldn't it be nice if, after they did that, they were at least courteous enough to piss off up the road out of the way? Well these two weren't, so I might have "noised them up" a bit over the next half-mile or so of twisty bits, until they could take off up the straight.

All is fun. Then Jim's car stops again, but again, starts immediately. And it's raining again.

On we go, and a few miles up the road, we stop at the Glenshee Ski Centre for a wee lunch. The place is deserted apart from soggy bikers (not my two new pals, though) plus a poor sod in a Caterham whose weatherproof gear is even worse than a TVR's. No matter how miserable it seems, there's always some poor sod who is worse off.

Suitably heartened and motivated, we set off again, over the famous "Cockbridge to Tomintoul" road - famous for being the first to close because of snow in the winter (i.e. in about mid-July) and the last to re-open again (in about mid-June). We stop at the top for more photos.

I don't know why I bothered cleaning the car - it's manky.

Then it's on to Grantown on Spey, to yet another cafe, for more cakes and/or ice cream (well the rain's off so it's summer). The young lad serving in the cafe is the spitting image of Peter Kay - I keep expecting a quick chorus of "Is this the way to Amarillo".

Then Dave and Jim visit the local "check your ancestry" shop.

The final leg for today. We set off through Nairn and into Inverness, stopping for fuel, because we won't be passing any tomorrow (or if we do, it'll be at "Highland premium" prices). Then it's on to the hotel for a wee freshen up and a three-course dinner, just to keep us going.

170 miles today, along superb roads with little traffic. A bit less rain would have helped but it's been a great day. Casualty list: Phil's car boiled over due to a self-detaching swirl pot cap, Jim's car cut out twice due to a faulty alternator connection (fixed at the hotel tonight) and mine is misfiring a bit (well, quite a lot on the Tomintoul stage) and I can't be bothered to look at it tonight.

:: Sunday, June 23, 2013 ::

Up bright and early (well, early…) for a low calorie breakfast comprising sausage, eggs, bacon, hash browns, mushrooms, beans, tomatoes, toast, plus choices of croissants, muffins, cereals, muesli, etc etc etc. It's a long way till our first stop (could be up to 2 hours) so we stoke up the boilers for the arduous morning ahead. No black pudding or haggis though, so the time scale might be shorter.

Unfortunately, all this stoking up has a natural side effect, and that brings me on to another moan. Maybe I am displaying a lack of proper upbringing (more than likely) but whose idea was it, what tormented soul thought up the sheer bloody torture, of making the thinnest toilet paper you can find, using modern atom-splitting techniques, and then, worse than that, pre-chopping it into 4-inch squares and putting them into a dispenser on the bog wall of every hotel in the UK? Are these people inhuman? Don't they eat? Don't they realise that unless you live on a diet of eggs and other bindy things, it's impossible - IMPOSSIBLE - to wipe yourself with a single square of tissue without looking like you've just hand-cleaned the drains at the local Kebab-Mahal?

I stare out of the window at the rabbits in the next field, willing one of them to come closer. Even a hedgehog would be preferable. But no. So after half- emptying the dispenser, and a couple of handstands in the shower, I'm ready to go.

First we give the cars a wee clean. I also have a look for the cause of yesterday's misfire. There's nothing obvious, but a bit of twisting and fiddling suggests that one of the plug leads might be slightly loose at the distributor cap. I click it on more firmly, and hope.

After a confabulation about the weather, and a difference of opinion about food on or roof off, we set off down the side of Loch Ness, and encounter a group of Westfields going the other way. We stop at Urquhart Castle, a well-known landmark on the shore of the Loch, which you can no longer see since they built the visitor centre, and then screened the visitor centre off with trees, forgetting that also means you can't see the castle. Heritage, eh? You can't beat it (or even see it, once you cater for the public).

We make another photo stop on the side of Loch Ness, but the tourist lay-bys are all strategically placed where you can't see the Loch for trees. Onwards...

More pishing rain, until we come to our destination cafe. Which is closed. Onwards through more pishing rain

A bit later, the rain goes off, and we come to the Cluanie Inn, in the middle of nowhere. It's time for a break and a wee coffee, and maybe a bun. We're well into hillwalking country now, and every so often you see them walking along the side of the road, grimacing through their bushy beards. And that's just the women.

Then it's back to the road. The rain is off, so we can have a slightly more spirited drive, with Jim leading again (he's miles from his house, does he realise?) along some great roads with beautiful scenery. It would be even better if it was sunny.

Then we come to Eilean Donan castle - the one that has been on more biscuit tins than any other building in the world (probably). It apparently dates back to the 13th century, but was destroyed during or after the Jacobite rebellion, and then rebuilt about 100 years ago. History lesson over.

Dave asks the nice man if we can line up the cars in the coach park, for a better photo where the castle isn't obscured by trees.

Then we set off again, along the coast to Kyle of Lochalsh and over the bridge to the Isle of Skye. We've got time to spare before the ferry back to the mainland at the other end of the island, so we decide to extend our tour by 30 miles or so, just to see more Skye.

Here's a photo of some TVR's with a background of sky and Skye.

While I am parking for this photo, I hear the front wheel rubbing. When I lift the bonnet, it seems that the offside front inner wheelarch has come loose. I cable tie it up to the brake master cylinder. Sorted.

Then we stop at another tourist-type cafe, where I have to tighten the driver's door mirror, which is suffering from droop. Then we have a nice lunch before heading down to the bottom of the island to the ferry terminal at Armadale.

We take our places in the queue and check in, leaving just enough time for an ice cream and a wander about. The ferry arrives and docks, then as we start up to board, Dave's car makes a helluva racket. Starter.

Once we're aboard, we have to leave the cars and go upstairs - you're not allowed to travel on the car deck. Dave has to fret about restarting the car to get off the boat. It starts though, and we're able to get along to a car park in Mallaig to take the roofs back off.

Then it's back along to Fort William along the A830, pausing to take more photos beside Loch Eilt.

After we've checked into the hotel, we get fired in to fix Dave's starter. It turns out that the earth lead has cracked at the terminal, so the alternator hasn't been able to charge the battery properly, or regulate the voltage. Dave takes off the lead to fix it to the chassis in a different place, then makes up a new battery connection and bolts it together. The battery won't start the car, but it fires up immediately if you connect jump leads. Hopefully, no permanent damage.

Then it's time to wash up and force down another 3-course dinner, which isn't as good as last night's until the wee waitress comes along to clear the plates, and Jim extracts her life story.

160 miles today, again along excellent driving roads. If only they had been dry… Casualty list: Jim's car is now ok with its blu-tak repair to the wiring, while my car isn't misfiring any more, and the cable tie wheel arch repair is holding up. Dave's battery is still in the observation ward.

:: Sunday, June 23, 2013 ::

Once again, we're up early to give the cars a bit of a clean, seeing as it's dry, and it looks like it's going to stay dry.

Then it's back indoors for another low calorie breakfast, self service this time, so you can take as much as you like. Or as much as you can hold. It's not a Little Chef, though, so Dave's not guaranteed an Early Starter. And there's still no black pudding, or haggis, or even square sausage, so it's almost the same as starving yourself.

Then it's back out to the cars, and roofs of for definite this time. Then Dave's car won't start, but just like last night, it starts as soon as you connect another battery. Dave is worried that either the battery or alternator is ruined… we'll see… OK, round 'em up, move 'em out.

First stop is just round the corner, for petrol. Today's itinerary covers 240 miles so we brim the tanks. Then Dave's car needs another jump start. He's not happy, it's not hard to tell the difference between Dave and a ray of sunshine at the moment.

So off we go, down the side of Loch Linnhe and across the Ballachuilish Bridge, and then across the Connell Bridge (which always reminds me of the opening of "Taxi") and into Oban, which is heaving, so there's nowhere to stop. We carry on, although we do note the location of the local motor factors, just for future reference, you understand.

Eventually, we see a cafe in a village called Kilmelford, at the top of Loch Melfort. The car park is tiny though, se we park on the street, and just as we are doing the usual "mill around outside the cafe until somebody makes a decision to go in", this man appears and tells us that there's a coffee morning for charity at the hotel next door, with home baking and all. Well, it would be rude to say no.

It turns out that the baker is from the town where I was brought up (although he's a wee bit older than me, left when he was 14). He went to the same school though, and we both knew where each other's old house was (they were only about 200 yards apart, 50 years ago!). Once again, the others go inside and leave me to it… Anyway, the lemon sponge cake was excellent, and so was the chocolate gateau and the cheesecake, so I hear. As much cake as you want, and as much coffee, for a fixed price of £3.00. We all do our bit for charity.

Being a good boy obviously pays off, because Dave's car starts no problem. He's instantly transformed, and spends the rest of the day with a smile like Kermit the Frog dropping a silent fart.

So it's on to Lochgilphead, but we haven't gone a mile before we catch up to other traffic, and are then caught up by a nutter in a big red van, who proceeds to drive up Dave's arse for miles, weaving about and being a dick. The road is too bendy and hilly to overtake (and I don't mean a little bit, I mean steep gradients and hairpins), otherwise we wouldn't still be following the stuff in front, but nutter-van-man isn't to be deterred.

On the first available straight, he pushes past Dave, who lets him in rather than let him kill himself. A few miles later he does the same to me. Then he hops out again, and gets half-way past Phil and John, before realising that he's running out of road and engine power simultaneously, so he pulls back in, onto a bit of road where Phil already happens to be. Then he brake tests us, and realises just in time that he's left a gap in front that we could easily hop round and into, so he boots it off again.

Eventually he manages to push past the other two, and some other traffic, and disappears into the distance at Vmax.

We drive on through Lochgilphead, and back up the side of Loch Fyne, where we stop for another photo.

Then it's on into Inverary, where there is an urgent need to find a cafe or somewhere to eat. It's been an hour and a half, after all. We also visit the sweetie shops and the tourist souvenir shops.

Jim tries on a possible driving hat - it's "Nessie". The reason he's got that expression was because we told him that the man was coming to slap him for trying on hats without buying.

Inverary is also the home of the "Vital Spark", the puffer featured in Neil Munro's Para Handy books. Cue much "If Dougie was here, he would tell you" and other Para Handy witticisms.

God, I am knackered.

Back in the cars after a bit of present-buying, and on to the next stop, Balloch. We head over to Tarbert and then down the side of Loch Lomond. The Loch Lomond road is always busy, so we don't have the free run that we've enjoyed over the last 2 days, but that's ok. My bonnet pops open for the third time today (it's always done it from time to time but it's obviously needing some adjustment). We family meet a family from Alabama, who want to see the proper British sports cars. Turns out he has a TR6 and a Porsche 911. After a pee, an ice cream and a wander about, it's back in the car for the final leg home, via Stirling.

So that's 240 miles again today, along more great driving roads. Casualty list: Jim's car is still ok, my car still isn't misfiring, the cable tie wheel arch repair is holding up, and the bonnet needs fine adjustment with a smaller hammer than the one I have with me. Dave's battery has been released from the ward but will have to return to Outpatients for some post-operation monitoring. Phil's coolant incontinence is cured, and John has a boring Chimaera that doesn't break. OK if you like that sort of thing.

An absolutely great weekend, great company, great memories, superb wee cars.

:: Friday, June 28, 2013 ::

I gave the car a wee bit of a clean on Monday, before I put it away (mainly to prevent the wheels corroding) but I haven't touched it since.

Today I washed down the wheel arches which are covered in mud. Both the front wheel arches are loose - I put new screws in when I painted them up, but they're just weren't tight enough. Well they are now!

I also take the pivot bolt out of the mirror and put some loctite on it, and replace it. That should hold it for a while!

Then I check the bonnet adjustment - I stick masking tape over the locks, and lower the bonnet to see that the pins seem to line up perfectly. I loosen the pin on the driver's side and lengthen the pin by one turn, and tighten the mounting bolt again. The bonnet seems to engage more positively - we'll have to see how it goes.

No other running repairs necessary (although I'll have to free up the heater sliders which are stuck in one position for some reason).