:: Diary - September 2017 ::

:: Saturday, September 23, 2017 ::

The last time I used the TVR was to take it back along to the barn after our run in June (and after I had put the brakes all back together...). I need to prepare it meticulously for our excursion next weekend to the last TVR event of the season, at Wentworth House near Sheffield. I open the garage door, after I've oiled the hinges, jump in and start it up - first time!

First - a good wash and scrub. OK that's enough, don't be getting too excited.

:: Tuesday, September 26, 2017 ::

The final preparations involve checking all the tyre pressures, oil and water levels and various other cursory checks.

I also decide to clean the interior trim, mainly because it's dusty.

Ready!

:: Saturday, September 30, 2017 ::

As usual, we meet up at McDonalds at 9am. Everybody is thereon time except for Dave, who has forgotten to leave enough time for his normal pre-breakfast happy meal. The day nearly comes to an abrupt halt when I stop to go into the parking space, and can't find reverse gear - I know where it should be, but it seems to be hiding. Too much wear in the selector on the bottom of the lever, so the lever hits the edge of the console just before the gear goes in.

There are two possible cures for this problem:
1. Take the console out, remove the three torx screws holding the lever into the top of the gearbox, and replace the selector bush on the end of the lever; or
2. Take the console out, and trim a bit off the edge of the console hole so that the lever can move further.
The correct method is of course "1", but "2" is easier because you don't have to drill holes in the car to get a torx socket onto the screw at the back.

Anyway, that's a decision for later... Dave leads us off on the first leg of our quest - around Edinburgh and down the A1 towards Newcastle. Can't remember anything dramatic about this part of the journey - just 4 cars in convoy, making our way through the Saturday morning traffic. We pass a couple of classics on the City Bypass - a Triumph Stag and a TR6, tootling along at the 50-ish miles per hour that classics seem to do.

We stop for breakfast just north of Newcastle, just a brief filler you understand, nothing too gut-busting. Except for Dave, who manages to burst his zip, so has to change his trousers and dump the old ones.

So after a splash of fuel, we're off again, refreshed, replenished and re-bagged, with Jim in the lead this time. Again, nothing too dramatic except the scenery, and we only get split up the once, and have to pause to re-group.

Another couple of hours, and it's time to stop again. I can't remember where exactly it was, but there was a Costa, so after a wee coffee and a cake, and another splash of fuel (Dave's in the wedge so it's drinking like Oliver Reed straight off the wagon - if you don't know who Oliver Reed is, ask your mummy), we set off for the final most arduous part of the journey, with me in the lead because I brought the satnav.

I remember even less about this last leg, because (a) it was pishing down rain for part of it, and (b) I was trying to follow a satnav that seemed to be determined to take me to the wrong place. We get there though, and park up and put the roofs on.

After check in and a wee freshen up, we gather for dinner. Jim says we have a table booked for 7, but the place hasn't heard of us it's one of those Brewers Fayre type places, so that's not unusual). We are told that food is taking an hour from ordering, and the queue to order isn't far short of that again. Fantastic.

We manage to bag a table, and finally get our food just as we are on the very edge of dying of starvation. The food is served with the grace and attitude of a pre-menstrual orang-tang, but at least it tastes good. Still, you don't go for the dining experience, eh?

All too soon, it's time for buddy-baws, after a quick raid of the chocolate vending machine in the hotel reception.