:: Diary - June 2015 ::

:: Saturday, June 20, 2015 ::

It's here! It's here! It's here! It's here!

No, not Santa and reindeer, it's time to TVR in the rain. And there's a thing. We've had weeks of half decent weather, mainly during the week. Weekends have been a bit less glorious, but passable. But what happens when you have a TVR thing planned? It pishes down.

And just to emphasise that it's taking the piss, it stays dry while I get the car out of the garage, and pack my stuff in the boot etc. The first raindrop splashes on the windscreen just as I turn the key to "start". As Basil Fawlty would say, “Absolutely bloody typical”.

So it's off to meet Dave and Jim. And Adrian who travelled up last night to join our little jaunt. Dave has planned our annual tour of the highlands, over the next three days. The car has been cleaned, oil and coolant levels checked, tyre pressures ditto, fuelled up, everything ok. By the time I have travelled 3 miles to our meeting, it's manky...

After exchanging our usual friendly manly greetings, and waiting for Adrian to top up oil, we set off to meet up with George and Hugh at Stirling. After about 30 miles along the motorway, I see, from the front, Adrian peeling off up a slip road. By that time I have passed it, so there's not a lot I can do except carry on to the next junction, where we were all stopping anyway.

As we regroup with Hugh and George, it emerges that Adrian has gone to Halfords - on the other side of the city - to buy more oil. Why he didn't buy some in the garage where we met up, nobody knows. So eventually he turns up, and we're all on our way again, this time with Adrian leading as his penance, and also because knowing where you are going can be boringly predictable.

This bit of our route is quite touristy, so while we are stuck behind dawdly motor homes and caravans, a group of bikers catch up. You can tell in the mirror that they are foreign because their bikes are left-hand drive. They start to pass the queue in dribs and drabs, which is fine - I would do it myself if I had the chance. The thing about overtaking, though, is that you have to watch what you're doing, especially past junctions and petrol stations and places where things might turn. One of the bikers almost manages to emboss himself into the side of one of the motor homes turning right into a petrol station.

Remember those adverts "think once, think twice, think bike"? Good advice, but sometimes (well, often) bikers demonstrate a dopey unawareness, by underestimating the dopey unawareness of everybody else, and putting themselves into situations that they should be able to see coming.

We head over the Duke's pass to Aberfoyle and then across through Balloch towards Helensburgh. On this stretch, Jim, at the back, is separated from the rest of us by an Audi, who decides to show that he can keep up with all these fancy sports cars, notwithstanding that we are in a queue behind caravans, Miss Daisys etc.

Now, one of the things about our group, and I have noticed that we are all much the same, is that we can drive for miles, even on fairly twisty roads, and hardly brake. That's partly through reading the road and joining up bends properly, and partly by not pushing the car to the limit. Anyway, while we are swooping along, Audi-man totally overcooks one particular bend and nearly ends up tank-slapping into the scenery. Hope he had a change of trousers.

Anyway, after 3 hours of driving, we are all either starving, caffeine-deficient or bursting for a pee, except for Adrian who is demonstrating superhuman ironman endurance. So we agree to stop in Inverary for lunch, which is very nice.

After a wander around and a visit to ye olde sweetie shoppe and for Adrian, ye olde Castrol shoppe, we head off again, for about 20 miles in completely the wrong direction, with no scope for correction for miles and miles, unless we go back the way we came.

We stop on the shores of Loch Fyne for some photos and a regroup - and to let the police traffic car go past, before we turn around. He’s probably still waiting there for us to bomb past him further down the road.

But Adrian outsmarted them by turning us all around…

Then it's back past our lunch venue and upwards to Glencoe, which is a beautiful part of the world which we don't have time to look at because we're driving.

This is the Connell Bridge, just beside our hotel.

We arrive at the hotel and get parked up, round the back out of sight of passing traffic. And indeed, out of sight of any telephone data signal. Never mind, the hotel has wifi, it says. Except it only works if you're sitting in one particular seat between the hours of 9pm and 9.04. I am at least entertained by the TV from the room next door, which appears to be occupied by a deaf sports fan.

Then it's back down for dinner, which is very nice, well the food is, the company, not so much. I almost get barred from the table for shit jokes, none of which, fortunately, I can now remember.

:: Sunday, June 21, 2015 ::

Disaster. Total unmitigated disaster. After yesterday's big lunch and even bigger dinner, it all has to go somewhere, and mine does, rather violently and thunderously, at about 6am, hopefully not in earshot of next door's deaf sports fan. Basking in the afterglow of a well-executed evacuation, as you do, I turn and pull the handle. Which is clearly not connected to anything behind the wall, so nothing happens.

The cistern is behind a solid wall. I go into the wardrobe / cupboard behind that wall - that's a solid wall as well. The cistern is inaccessible unless you demolish half the hotel.

I fire up the internet (GPRS only, no 3G or wifi here) and look up Debretts guide to social skills, etiquette and style, but there is not one bit of advice on "what does one do when one is stuck in a hotel room with a lavvy full of one's number twos, and no running water". Google isn't much better.

After thinking about various solutions reminiscent of Mr Bean, I decide that I am going to have to report it at reception. Oh the humanity...

Anyway, all of this has left me empty, so it's downstairs for an early breakfast. We have to be early because we have to cover 85 miles to catch a ferry at 10.25 am, so we all check-out first and pack the cars, ready to go. This is where we discover that it has been absolutely pishing down rain all night, and isn't showing any signs of letting up, so the roofs are staying on. I notice that the headlining on my passenger side panel is sagging down into the car, and for a minute, I fear that it is full of water (but on the bright side, if it is, maybe I can smuggle it upstairs and chuck it down the bog). It's not though, it's only air...

Breakfast doesn't start until 8.00 on a Sunday though, so we are all hanging around in the hall like we haven't seen a meal for days. Then we have a nice fry-up of sausages, eggs, beans, bacon, mushrooms, tomato - you know, all of your 5-a-day. Then it's back out to the car for the off!

It is now ten past nine. We have to check in at the ferry by 10.25. It's 85 miles away and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it!

Back over the Connell Bridge!

Another consideration is that, after 51 of those miles, my speedo is going to reach 100,000 miles, but we won't have time to celebrate. I agree to follow at the back so that I can stop to capture the historic moment, and then catch up.

And I do. I coast to a stop at a convenient spot, to capture this photo. Then I accelerate straight from standstill to 100 (kilometres per hour officer) to catch up to the disappearing mob.

After a few more miles I hear a little thump above my head, and I look up to see that the passenger side headlining has reversed itself back up into the roof and looks as if it has never been loose. Odd!

I also realise that my wiper blades are falling to bits. Have I got time for a trip to the nearest Halfords? (For readers accustomed to a more urbanised population density, I should explain that out here on the Scottish islands, you're miles from even a paper shop, so the nearest Halfords must be maybe 100 miles away.) I decide that two diversions to Halfords is one too many (well, 2 too many if I'm honest) so I soldier on.

We arrive at the ferry at 10.24 and a half, and are soon directed aboard, much to the relief of a group of lads in a camper van who made the mistake of telling Dave that his car is nice, but didn't expect the full history.

We park up safely between the vans and buses!

Once we're off the ferry, we stop to remove roofs, then it's onwards, with Jim in the lead. There's only really one road to follow, though, so we can't go wrong. You'd a thunk...

At least Jim doesn't have Adrian's superhuman endurance between stops - he's used to a life of tea breaks and fags. So before too long, we stop at a little cake shop, where we form a disorderly queue. It soon becomes apparent that the 3 staff don't do the sensible "serve a customer each" thing, but one makes the tea / coffee, one gets the cakes, and the third one seems to fetch plates and cut bits off the cakes. Then one of them gets around to counting how much each bill adds up to, and takes the money. Then they all swap roles for the next customer. While this introduces variety, it does mean that progress is glacially slow... But this is the Scottish islands - if you ask them what the Gaelic word for "tomorrow" is, they'll say "Och we have no need to express such urgency".

So eventually, it's off again, along mainly single track roads with passing places, around the top of the island. We stop above the village of Uig to take some photos. The scenery is absolutely beautiful - I have never been here before, and it's lovely as we drive around the northern coast.

We plan to stop in Portree for lunch, but Jim drives straight through, and stops just on the other side. He was following the signs for Portree but can't see any now. No, that's because we're here now... Anyway, we decide to press on - time is getting short and we're not that hungry.

We cross the Skye bridge back to the mainland, and the rain starts getting heavier. We dive into a layby to replace roofs and discuss strategy to get to our hotel in Inverness. Then we're off again, past Eilean Donan castle, and the seven sisters of Kintail. We pass a sign that says "check mirrors for bikers". I have a quick look at both mirrors, and even run my hand around the one on the drivers door, but although they are covered in dead insects, I am pretty sure there are no bikers caught up in then. Loads of midgies, but no bikers.

After another stop to regroup, we head for the hotel which we find on the first pass this time. So it's time to check in, get upstairs to the room and check that the toilet works. Twice.

Dinner is in one of those bar/restaurants where you order your food at the bar, with your table number. Except that the bar is busy and the queue is slow. I feckin hate queues. After ages, one of the two bints who has been chatting to a customer around the corner, comes along and opens another order point. About bleeding time.

And so another day passes in the grand TVR tour of the highlands, so it's off to bed, after checking that the toilet still works.

:: Monday, June 22, 2015 ::

So we have a more leisurely day today, so breakfast is at 8.30, back in the same pub /restaurant that we were in last night. Except with table service.

After a hearty breakfast, and another oil refill for Adrian, we're off again, through Nairn and Elgin, towards Inverurie. The weather is a bit better so the roofs are off, and it's all really quite pleasant. The cars are all running like wee sweeties.

After a missed turn, and then another one, we decide that we don't have time to continue around Aberdeen, so we cut across through Dunecht towards Banchory, along wee roads which are still fun.

Unfortunately we miss another turn (did I tell you that Adrian was leading again?) so we end up backtracking for 6 miles into Banchory, which is a nice quiet wee place. Well it is, until 6 TVRs come rumbling in.

We park up in an off-street car park, where we find that one of the ticket machine, and a big queue at the other one. That's us. See, this machine has 3 steps:

1. Put in registration number
2. Put in money
3. Collect ticket to put in windscreen.

Seems simple eh? Nope, it turns into a double-episode of the Krypton Factor. Hugh gets there first (hence the queue) but by the time we've all worked it out, with instructions from locals, half of Hugh's paid-for time has already elapsed.

Still, the wee cafe where we have lunch, is very nice. It's been a long time since our (massive) breakfast but we still only have the one course this time.

When we get back to the cars, George notices that there's water under the rear wheel arch. It doesn't seem to be leaking from the cooling system, and it's not petrol, so we ignore it.

Onwards! We continue through Braemar and on to Glenshee, where the road sweeps up the side of the mountain to the ski lodge, where we stopped last year, and back down the other side towards Blairgowrie. The roads are fairly quiet so we are able to open the taps a little bit (bearing in mind that rolling end-over-end into the valley, like the Italian Job, doesn't really appeal).

Then we come into Blairgowrie and on to the edge of Perth, where we stop to say cheerio to Hugh and George who are heading home another way. George's car is still leaking water, but he thinks it's a container of water in the boot that might be leaking, and he can't be bothered emptying the boot to find out.

He also points out a wee puddle under the front of my car, but it doesn't smell of antifreeze so it must just be splashes from some of the puddles we've gone through.

Or it might not. As soon as we part ways, I am leading out of the car park. After half a mile, the temperature gauge shoots into the red. It drops when we're moving but rises when we stop. I switch the fan on manually and also. Put the heater on, and that helps until we reach the motorway. The temp jumps back up again, and I turn off the motorway at the next junction.

We leave the car to cool for a bit, then I take the swirl pot cap off slowly, letting it depressurise gradually without erupting in a fountain of boiling water. Fortunately Dave has water with him so we refill it slowly, with the engine running to push the water flow and reduce air locks. A quick bleed of the radiator using Adrian's still-shiny spanners, and all seems ok.

So it's back in the car for the last 40 miles home, through Glenfarg and over the Forth Road Bridge. No overheating, so it must have been low on water - but I topped it up on Wednesday, so it must be leaking somewhere, and takes 700-odd miles to lose enough to be critical.

When I get back home, I put the car in the garage, noting the wee water drips where I left it running while I opened the garage door. Bonnet up, bright light on, and I can see that it's leaking from the bottom right hand corner of the radiator - the bit I paid to get fixed last year.

That doesn't detract from a brilliant 3 days though, with great company and these brilliant wee cars, and a Chimaera. I've looked forward to this weekend for ages, and although the weather could have been better, it's been worth the wait.

Roll on next year!