TVRs and Stuff

:: Diary - June 2023 ::
:: Sunday, 4 June 2023 ::

I think I've stepped into a parallel universe where nothing makes sense. Like Alice in Wonderland on crack, and too many e-numbers.
The day started normally enough - I met up with Jim and Eric for a wee run to the monthly TVR Car Club meeting. The weather is glorious so we're going to go the long way.

The car is looking good considering it has just passed its 33rd birthday!

A wee stop for a group photo...

We have a great wee drive, although there are the usual Sunday dawdlers.
When we get to the venue, it's good to see that Hugh has been able to get all of the bits of his car working together and going in the same direction!
As usual, or lunch conversations cover a wide range. Our trip to Skye next weekend, obviously. Details of accommodation and food stops, naturally. Car preparations, as usual. Past trips - of course - including the surreal experience of Graham's hotel in Strontian, cooling system repairs at the side of the road in the borders, just the usual manly bonding stuff. However, we then veer off into the use of railway sleepers as jacks or car ramps or something, held together with 6 inch nails and seemingly endless lengths of angle iron. To be honest, I'm struggling to picture this engineering marvel, but I suspect that if we had one single photograph, we could have petitioned to replace the Forth Rail Bridge on Unesco's list of engineering heritage sites...
With no time to recover from this mind-blowing technological breakthrough, we also move on to being attacked by predatory birds (not big Senga and Annette in their best spangly boob tubes and leggings outside the night club toilets - we mean seagulls and jackdaws pecking you to bits for unknown reasons), squirrel extermination (did you know that squirrel piss apparently dissolves felt marker lines on the inside of your loft hatch?), personal registration plates, half-shares in gas-guzzling jet skis, how to eat cheesecake and ice cream without any cutlery, and a host of other totally unrelated topics which somehow appear to naturally follow on from each other in a random stream of slavering nonsense.
Oh, and car insurance... I got my renewal notice for the Range Rover this morning, with the new premium going up by 60% compared with last year. 60- feckin-percent! This might be related to my neighbour having two high-end cars stolen from his driveway in March (plus a couple of others further down the street over the past wee while) or it might just be that insurance companies rely on your laziness to just auto-renew. After a quick online chat with Alexandr the Meerkat, I have 13 quotes that are cheaper than my renewal - some by just over half (even less than I paid last year).
I've had the TVR, the Porsche and the Chevrolet all insured with the same broker since I got them, and do they offer any loyalty bonus? Not a cent. When you call, and they answer after 15 or 20 minutes, they always, always, say "oh we can get that down a bit for you" - and they always can - but I now always say "you should have done that in the first place" and that's the end of that. So now they are all insured in different places that I can't keep track of, but it's a lot cheaper!
Anyway, back to today - eventually, however, my silent prayers are answered and it's time to drive home in the welcome silence of a TVR. Eric leads. Jim follows. I follow Jim. This means that I can switch the thinking part of my brain off, to let it cool down a bit and re-charge before I'm home.

:: Saturday, 10 June 2023 ::

It’s that time of year again - yes it’s TVR summer tour time! This annual invitation-only event is guaranteed to provide entertainment, food, spectacular views, food, good driving roads, food, rudimentary technical repairs, food, great banter, and nearly forgot to mention - food.
And so we assemble or happy band. Eric and his wife Margaret, on her first TVR group adventure, John and his wife Joyce, Jim, Adrian who has travelled all the way from Yorkshire to take part in the highlight of his year, and finally, me - the last vestige of an age of chivalry which believes that knights of the road should be unencumbered by the distractions of fair maidens or other speed-limiting devices.
Dave isn’t joining us this year, for reasons too tedious to explain here, but put simply, involving flooding, wholesale house (and car) repairs, and most important, his wife’s recuperation from an operation. His priorities, quite rightly, are at home.
He does turn up to meet us at our usual secret and mysterious assembly point - Maccy D’s at Newbridge - and it’s nice to catch up before we set off.
At this point we realise that we are being watched, and suddenly we realise that it’s two outlaws, disguised and on the run. It’s Nippy Nicola and Narnia Pete in the spare camper van, making a run for the border, across the Rio Tweed…

It’s shortly after this point that I realise that a disproportionate number of my travelling companions have only the vaguest notion of where we are going, and no idea of how we propose to get there, despite agreeing daily route maps, months ago. All you have to do is follow the leader, eh? Simples… Ah if only life was so sweet…
So off we go, with Adrian leading - a safe bet, although you do have to be vigilant in case of sudden and unannounced off-route deviations to the nearest (or not-so-near) Halfords to satiate the Rover V8’s voracious appetite for oil. But not this time - we reach our intended breakfast destination at Dobbies garden centre in Stirling in next to no time.
This is only the first stop of the day, so no need to go overboard. Full breakfast it is then!

After milling aimlessly around the shop looking at shorts, gnomes, garden furniture, knives for digging Boy Scouts out of horse’s hooves etc, we’re on our way again - westwards into the wilds!
The freedom. The joy of the open road. That feeling of the wind in your hair (oops excuse me!) this is what it’s all about. Until we come to Callander, which is a tedious almost stationary crawl on the verge of overheating, for around 10 minutes while people gradually manoeuvre their tiny Toyopeugeoen city car into a space where anyone of any competence could berth the Queen Mary.
Onwards again to that hub of tourism in the Trossachs, the Green Welly stop - a haven of tartan touristy stuff, bikers, but with a decent cafe. One scone and a caramel wafer later…

We’re almost ready to set off after the various pre-flight checks that appear to be so essential (for reasons that I admit I don’t entirely understand). Boots are opened, bonnets are opened, fiddly things are done, boots are closed, then opened again, bonnets are closed, boots are closed and opened again, pockets are searched, boots are opened and closed again…
Then just before we really are ready to set off (or it might have been a long time before we are really ready to set off, who knows? - there is no set time limit on procrastination after all), an older gent wanders over to me and tells me that he used to have a Grantura with the Triumph engine. We chat about that for a few minutes. Then he tells me that he has an Austin Gypsy, which the MOD bought in bulk in the 1960s and then kept in storage for use in the event of a Cold War, but never actually used. So it only has 11,000 miles on the clock and has been maintained and serviced all that time.
Finally I make my excuses to leave. I’m not entirely sure if this procrastination hint has reached my travelling companions or not, but we set off west again, among the bikers and the motorhomers, through various roadworks and other obstacles, including Jim’s number plate, which falls off just as we turn up the hill to the Rest and be Thankful bagpiper. Jim hasn’t noticed, so batters on. I stop while Adrian’s runs down the hill to get it - and then trudges much more slowly back up…
We reform in a lay-by further ahead, and then head onwards through Glencoe and up the side of Loch Linnhe (pronounced “Linny”, I am later informed) to Fort William, where the car clocks up its 111,111th mile just before we stop for coffee.

First breakdown alert! Eric’s car doesn’t start on the key, but a quick push start does the trick. Duff ignition switch?
I’m now “leader” for this last leg to our “destination du jour” at Mallaig, but as we leave Fort William, I see a sign that says “No fuel available in Mallaig”. Now, we’ve had an extensive (and far too long to even start to explain here) conversation(s) about the availability of E5 fuel on Skye, and I now wish I had been listening, but as far as I can remember, the next fuel stop after Mallaig tomorrow, is only around 16 miles from the the ferry. Bash on!
But we’re not going straight there, oh no… that would be too simple. We turn off for a lengthy diversion south to Onich and then along single track roads past our favourite Ben View hotel. Now I quite like single track roads - if you’re on your own, or leading a group, you have to be “on it” all the time - when to speed up, and when to slow at passing places until you can see far enough. It’s proper driving, not just cruising.
It’s different if you’re further back in the group, because you know that the cars in front have cleared the way, so there’s nothing likely to be coming the other way - provided that you stay within reasonable distance of the rest of the group.
Eventually we rejoin the main road and head on for the last few miles into Mallaig, which is a lovely wee town, with a ferry to Skye. It’s summer and it’s sunny and warm, so the place is packed and parking is difficult. We stop for a wee confab on where to park, and when we go to start again, mine doesn’t…
Second breakdown of the day… it’s that fuel pump again. I turn the key while Adrian gives it a tap with a hammer, and it starts! Sorted (at least for now).
We park up, fart around a bit, and then walk round to our hotel.
Prime parking has been taken up by a small squadron of 3-wheelers - mainly kit cars based on Citroen 2CV mechanicals, but one is a Morris-based creation that I don’t recognise, but looks like it’s based on a Mini.
These are a whole lot of fun, I had a run in a Pendleton 3-wheeler years ago, and didn’t stop laughing for hours afterwards.
Then it’s a self check-in to the hotel since there’s nobody on the desk but they have left a note to tell us which rooms are ours - so off we go exploring to find our beds for the night. A quick settle in and then we’re back out again to walk around the corner to a pub for our dinner.
During dinner, we realise that the first ferry to Skye, which we intended to be on, is fully booked. Now, we had a meeting of the committee 2 months ago, and decided that we didn’t need to book. Obviously, we were wrong. All except for John who decided to book it anyway.

Anyway, we decide on plan B - an alternative route for tomorrow that doesn’t involve ferries.
A fantastic day!

:: Sunday, 11 June 2023 ::

Oh happy day!
I get up (kinda) early to go and get my satnav to plot the revised route. On the way, I have a wee wander around the harbour.

Mallaig is a lovely wee place!

It has been raining a bit overnight, so I think we'll be keeping the roofs on for a bit!

With that done, I go out again to stock up on essential supplies like jelly babies etc - and on the way out I bump into Eric at reception. The girl behind the desk tells us that Calmac always expect some no-shows or cancellations, so if we line up in lane 6, we’ll probably get 4 cars on - and John has booked anyway, the smartarse rebel, so we should be ok.
Mad scramble to get cars into the ferry terminal (which is just across the road). As we wait, we hear that due to a mixup by a tour operator, a bus that is already in Lane 1 has cancelled - that’s space for 3 right there.

So they load all the booked vehicles, then fill up the empty space from our lane 6…
and we’re on! Revert to plan A!
Here’s a bus-sized space occupied by 3 TVRs who identify as coaches.

And a fourth tucked into the corner…

It’s only a half-hour crossing, so we don’t have time to play at being Jack Sparrow or Captain Pugwash, before we reach the island. The captain executes a superb handbrake turn to reverse smartly into the loading ramp. I bet he could manoeuvre the Queen Mary into a space where yesterday’s drivers would struggle to fit their tiny Toyopeugeoen city car…
As we drive off the ferry, it starts to rain. As we travel up the road, it get heavier. And heavier. Then just as abruptly, the rain goes off for the day.
First we fuel up in a garage where one woman is working two tills to get the queue down - she could show most of the barely-interested teenage so-called assistants how it’s done.
Our intended breakfast stop, advertised as open all day every day, is shut, so we find a lovely wee lunch cafe where we can sit outside and enjoy a wee brunch to reset our driving powers. There ensues a discussion of fuel prices, mileage covered, and average fuel consumption. I can’t remember how much fuel I’ve put in, how many miles we’ve done, or even an average fuel consumption over any period in the last 20 years that I’ve owned the car, because I’ve never bothered to work it out, because none of that matters when you’re having fun.
It’s absolutely spectacular, and we stop for a photo op…

where the cars compete with the landscape for attention.

I lead onwards around the top of island, back on to single track roads with passing places. These are a lot twistier than the roads yesterday, and a bit busier too, so there’s more traffic coming the other way.
By the time I get to the top of the island, I’m severely pissed off by the number of oncoming drivers who barge on myopically, and don’t even give a wave of thanks when you stop to let them past. Ignorant peasants.
Then it’s back down the other side, behind an Audi that isn’t very quick, but makes itself around 20 feet wide on the two-lane bits, to stop you passing…
On the way back down the east side of the island, I stop at what I think is a cafe, but which turns out to be a local grocery store (which is shut) with adjacent public toilets (which thankfully aren’t).
We have a bit of a look at the scenery…

We open boots and shut boots and do stuff like study maps...

Then we head off again through Portree and south across the Skye bridge to Kyle of Lochalsh and along the A87 towards Spean Bridge and Fort William, where we will be staying tonight.
At one point (don’t even ask where it was) we stop to regroup and meet a coupe of guys who have hired an Aston Martin DB9 for the weekend. Well they didn’t, they hired a DB7, but that was unavailable because it had a broken engine mount, so they had to settle for a DB9 instead. Poor things.

After more opening boots and shutting boots and doing stuff, we set off again but soon catch up to a white van that teeters around twisty bits but speeds up on any short straight bits so you can’t get past. Well, you probably could, but he’s not going that slow, and it’s unlikely that we all would get past by the time we reach Fort William.
That’s not enough for the lad in the Subaru WRX STI flying machine, who passes three of us at Warp Speed 3, just before we enter the Fort William speed limit. We turn off into our hotel and get parked up.
Here we discover the news that the two banditos who we saw yesterday morning, heading incognito to the border, have been arrested and then released after helping police investigate crimes against credibility.
Then it’s indoors, quick freshen up, and order a taxi to get us back along the corridor in time for our dinner. I can’t remember everything we talked about (obviously) but one important topic was our route for tomorrow, and setting off at 9am - all packing, fuelling and pre-flight checks completed, ready to go at 9am. That’s when Mickey’s little hand points at 9, and his big hand points at 12, got it?

:: Monday, 12 June 2023 ::

Before we do anything else, I go out early to tighten up the gear knob which has worked loose during the later part of yesterday - probably because it has been shifted more often along those single track roads, than it normally would be in months.
Then I pack the roof into the boot and nip out to the petrol station next door, all ready for boarding and departure before 9am. Mickey’s little hand isn’t even pointing at 8 yet, so there’s plenty of time for breakfast!
So here we all are, ready to set off at 9. No, we’re not. One of us isn’t here yet. Others are opening and shutting boots and bonnets, checking oil, cleaning windows, removing roofs (which involves emptying the boot again first)…
I know we’re on holiday. I know that it doesn’t really matter, I know that. But Mickey’s poor wee arms are spread as wide as they can go by the time we’re all started up and moving off. So much for the “early start” everybody said they wanted…
Back to a state of solitary meditation, peace and tranquility as we meander southwards behind a lumber lorry that would have been 15 minutes behind us if only we had…. oh never mind! Adrian is leading and has a lovely close-up view of the arse of a Ford XR3i that can’t pass lumbering lumber lorries. It doesn’t matter!
It’s early (not as early at it should have been, but still early) yet the sun is already absolutely roasting. It’s a great day (what’s left of it) to be driving TVRs!
About an hour down the road, we arrive at a wee garden centre, where we stop for coffee. And maybe a cake. Oh and a toilet… It’s a lovely wee bay with nice views.

So nice that we’re reluctant to leave.

Or maybe it’s just the distraction of opening and shutting boots and bonnets and shifting stuff around that keeps us there.

Onwards again, through various wee villages and then Lochgilphead, to Inveraray. The scenery is amazing - driving between hills and mountains, or alongside lochs and rivers - Scotland is a beautiful country, we’re so lucky to have all this within a few miles of home. We stop again in Inveraray and go foraging for lunch - something quick, not a big sit-down dinner.
We spy a wee cafe where we can sit outside. The man is very welcoming, “Order at the counter” he says. He gets his pad, I ask for a plate of chips and a diet coke. He says “If that’s all you want, go to the takeaway next door”. Politely and deferentially turned away - so I do… So does Adrian. We go outside and sit down while other people order more substantial meals.
Then they bring Eric a plate of chips and a diet coke. I’m tempted to ask about this change of policy since Adrian and I stood at the counter eh? Except I really can’t be arsed.
No wonder I have trust and abandonment issues though… but to restore my confidence in human nature, Adrian buys me an ice cream cone from the shop across the street, so it all ends well.
This is our last stop, so we set off east through Arrochar to the bonny banks of Loch Lomond, and then through Balloch and Drymen, back to Dobbie’s at Stirling for our last goodbye (and the loo), before heading off home in various directions.
I’m home in time for dinner, 650 miles and 2 tanks of fuel used up from when we started on Saturday. Another fantastic weekend with good company in these incredible wee cars. Life is good.
When I get home, I’m straight into packing again - black tie highland dress this time, for a day trip to London tomorrow - I’ve been invited to the President’s reception for one of the professional engineering institutions that I’m a member of (not mechanical engineering I hasten to add - I down’t pretend to know anything about that). When I told my TVR travelling companions about that at dinner last night, they said that it was hard to imagine me as a “professional” in another life. I fully get that - I often have to stop and imagine it myself…

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