I'm on first name terms with the local recovery truck driver. That in itself is a worrying turn of events. He greets me like a regular customer. I guess that is what I have become. I suppose the next step will be having Green Flag on speed dial, recognising the call handlers and asking for Mike to attend once more. I certainly get the feeling that it won't be my last trip in the front of the Marsh Road Garage recovery truck.
It had been a good day up until then. Having been to the tip, I had taken young Lucas for a quick trip to the beach. It was fiercely hot, most unusual for this summer, and we had shorts on, so we went in the sea to cool off. Then, on the way home, I noticed that the gears were getting harder to get in to, having been so smooth since they were fixed last week. We got in to some stationary traffic on Preston Beach Road and whilst the rest of the stationary traffic became slow moving traffic, I was left cursing and sweating as I tried frantically to force the gear stick in to a gear, any gear, to get it going again. It wasn't happening. I'm no great mechanical expert but I could tell a knackered clutch when I felt one.
I tried pushing the beast out of the road. Hordes of gormless morons drove past, staring blankly at me as I tried in vain to get Jezebel out of the way of the traffic which was building up. Still, at least it wasn't whilst the Olympics were in full swing. Finally, a car full of Koreans stopped to help. At least I think they were Koreans. I didn't ask which side of the border they were from. They didn't seem to speak a lot of English but they understood the situation I was in and helped to push Jezebel up on to the pavement. I thanked them in my best Korean. "내 모자는 세 모서리를 가지고있다" . They seemed pleased with the news that my hat has got three corners.
I waited patiently for the arrival of Mike until there was a knock on the drivers window. "Hi, it's Don, Team 31" . And it was. Stood in the traffic, admiring my dubious parking and wondering if there was an issue. I explained the lack of clutch action and that my regular recovery truck driver Mike was coming to sort me out again. Not the greatest place for an impromptu Windy 500 discussion, I guess I should have invited him in, got the burner going and made him a quick cuppa.
The meeting earlier in the week with Team 3, Team Trauma, was much better organised and sociable. Cider, freshly grilled steak and salad lively discussion about ambulances and estate agents. I'm sure many people have dreamed of putting an estate agent in an ambulance, this team are actually going to do it ! Some great ideas from the paramedics on the fundraising front.
So, thanks to Mike, Jezebel is currently sat outside the house and is likely to be there for a little bit. The planned two day trip this weekend has now reverted to good, old fashioned, proper camping, in one of those tents. Just as the Olympics are due to start and I had envisaged having my van and it's advertising on view to the World's media, there she is parked in a cul-de-sac 3 miles from all of the action. Most annoying.
Later, whilst at work, I spotted a man in a lurid pink and purple top. Using my powers of deduction, I approached him and accused him of being Team 49. I was correct. First meeting with Gary as he is snowed under organising the Olympic ambassadors in Weymouth, with their violently coloured shirts. He won't have time to consider getting a vehicle until September and the Games have been and gone. Funnily enough, I had one he could have had, if he didn't mind a few dents where I had been banging my head against the bodywork.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Gone Fishin'
Gatwick Airport is the second busiest airport in Britain, only slightly less busy than it's near neighbour Heathrow. It does hold it's own record though. It is the busiest single runway airport in the World. 52 flights an hour at peak times take off and land on the runway which runs approximately East-West.
Henfold Lakes near Dorking are a peaceful series of 5 fishing lakes. Peaceful, that is, in between the 52 flights an hour buzzing overhead. Henfold Lakes was where I found myself on Wednesday evening, together with a 30 year old camper van, an excitable 4 year old lunatic and an equally excitable 30 something year old wife, clutching two tickets to the show jumping at Hickstead the following day.
How could I be so foolish ? Not the camper van, she was fine, albeit a little heavy on the juice. Not the camp site either. The noise became background noise soon enough and the lakes were pretty. It was even good value at £11 for the night. No, I was referring to the Hickstead tickets. I have to admit, to my eternal shame, I bought them.
I've had some good E-bay purchases in my time. £8 for two tickets to the Heineken Cup Final for example. That was a good purchase. Grand National Tickets for £20 was also a bargain. I've also had some rather poor E-bay purchases too. The bagpipes for example could never really be considered as a wise purchase. In my defence, m'lud, I was very drunk at the time. The Hickstead tickets though, I was sober. Perhaps I didn't plan it right, thinking that Jo would take her sister. Chickerell Primary School sports day put paid to that and hence I found myself being dragged off kicking and screaming to bloody Hickstead to watch the bloody show jumping. Fan-bloody-tastic.
Until now, Jezebel had not been out of Dorset in the previous two years. Our longest trip since we got her back on the road had been the twenty odd miles to Eype. Weymouth to Dorking is nearer 140 miles. I decided that the best way to tackle this mammoth trip was by dozing in the back and letting Jo drive. It was raining, but with a positive forecast we were looking forward to a pleasant barbecuing evening by the lakes. I awoke in Hampshire and took over the driving and navigating, exploring most of the country lanes within a 5 mile radius of our destination. Those extra gears (yes, we now have 4 ! forward gears !) made for a much smoother ride.
The weather forecast was wrong on the whole. We still managed the pleasant barbecue, just did it hanging out of the back of the van. We slept in the roof for the first time too. Well, when I say slept.... I dropped my pillow and needed a wee from about midnight onwards, just didn't want to disturb everyone else.
Next stop was Coulsdon to collect a fridge. 30 minutes drive, if you know where you are going. We took 60 and took the last 5 miles very cautiously due to our newly acquired issue. Excessively spongy brakes. Just what you need when you are about to collect a 40kg lump of kitchen appliance. Strangely though, as we scoured the local garages for brake fluid, the problem seemed to heal itself and we were off again, complete with enormous fridge, to bloody Hickstead.
So, bloody Hickstead. What can I say ? Infested with bloody ponies and young girls called Porsche and Scarlett. Still, the jodhpurs looked good.
Henfold Lakes near Dorking are a peaceful series of 5 fishing lakes. Peaceful, that is, in between the 52 flights an hour buzzing overhead. Henfold Lakes was where I found myself on Wednesday evening, together with a 30 year old camper van, an excitable 4 year old lunatic and an equally excitable 30 something year old wife, clutching two tickets to the show jumping at Hickstead the following day.
How could I be so foolish ? Not the camper van, she was fine, albeit a little heavy on the juice. Not the camp site either. The noise became background noise soon enough and the lakes were pretty. It was even good value at £11 for the night. No, I was referring to the Hickstead tickets. I have to admit, to my eternal shame, I bought them.
I've had some good E-bay purchases in my time. £8 for two tickets to the Heineken Cup Final for example. That was a good purchase. Grand National Tickets for £20 was also a bargain. I've also had some rather poor E-bay purchases too. The bagpipes for example could never really be considered as a wise purchase. In my defence, m'lud, I was very drunk at the time. The Hickstead tickets though, I was sober. Perhaps I didn't plan it right, thinking that Jo would take her sister. Chickerell Primary School sports day put paid to that and hence I found myself being dragged off kicking and screaming to bloody Hickstead to watch the bloody show jumping. Fan-bloody-tastic.
Until now, Jezebel had not been out of Dorset in the previous two years. Our longest trip since we got her back on the road had been the twenty odd miles to Eype. Weymouth to Dorking is nearer 140 miles. I decided that the best way to tackle this mammoth trip was by dozing in the back and letting Jo drive. It was raining, but with a positive forecast we were looking forward to a pleasant barbecuing evening by the lakes. I awoke in Hampshire and took over the driving and navigating, exploring most of the country lanes within a 5 mile radius of our destination. Those extra gears (yes, we now have 4 ! forward gears !) made for a much smoother ride.
Next stop was Coulsdon to collect a fridge. 30 minutes drive, if you know where you are going. We took 60 and took the last 5 miles very cautiously due to our newly acquired issue. Excessively spongy brakes. Just what you need when you are about to collect a 40kg lump of kitchen appliance. Strangely though, as we scoured the local garages for brake fluid, the problem seemed to heal itself and we were off again, complete with enormous fridge, to bloody Hickstead.
Friday, July 13, 2012
The Nightlife of Eype
For those of you unaware, Eype is a small village in West Dorset clinging precariously to the edge of the Golden Cap, the highest point on the south coast of England. It provides fine walking opportunities and wonderful views of Torbay, Lyme Bay and Portland. On a clear day that is.... On a wet and foggy evening with a howling gale blowing in off the sea, the views and walking opportunities can be a little less appealing.
We were in a camp site near the beach. As the crow flies, only 100 metres from the beach. Alas, this is a vertical 100 metres we are talking about and any crows that were inclined to fly would have been several miles inland the moment they took off. The camp site itself wasn't exactly flat. From the narrow road that led to it there was a steep incline and the camp site had terracing to provide small flat parking/camping areas.
So, this is what Jezebel, with me at the wheel, was facing as I looked up from the road. A daunting prospect. Especially with the mysterious lack of first gear in our gearbox. The one gear I could really do with in such a time of emergency. I gave her a bit of a run up, floored the accelerator and got by using the power of prayer, pleading and the odd expletive as she chugged to the top of the slope on the verge of the camp site, right on the verge of stalling. Phew.
This was to be our first camping experience with Jezebel. Early July and due to weather, vehicle problems aplenty, work and other issues and we had only now managed this feat. What is more, this was using the original, knackered engine that we had been told was on it's way out. Life in the old dog yet...
The camping was an experience. With the pop top not currently functioning (I think it could have acted as a huge sail if we had put it up), Lucas dropped off to sleep on a mattress in the boot area whilst we chatted and drank beer in the lounge area with my chum Mike, down for the evening from Surrey. We still haven't got flooring or cupboards in yet so our gear was free to roam around the interior on our journey down there.
The engine is currently behaving well. The service did the trick, eventually. New oil, filters and plugs had her running sweetly....for the first 20 metres. She then stopped dead and had to be pushed back in to the garage. A bit of tinkering and sanding of contacts in the distributor did the trick and she drove down to B&Q like a dream. Purring quietly on the bypass, compared to the rattles, coughs and splutters we had before that made you have to shout at your passengers.
After coming out of B&Q, she wouldn't start. I repeated the trick with the distributor and lo and behold, I was off again. 200 metres later, I wasn't. Outside KFC, parked at a funny angle on double yellows, I was again fiddling with HT leads, distributor cap and rotor arm. 10 minutes and after some advice from an AA man, I was off again. For 50 metres. Breakdown number 4. This was soon after followed by breakdown 5 of the day on Swannery Bridge. The adjustments made with some pliers and a hammer seemed to do the trick though. Since then, she has been running like a dream.
So, I now have a functioning pop top. Lucas has been up there, claiming the large double bed as his own. I've ripped off the ghastly carpet stuff from the roof boards as it was disintegrating and spreading fluff and dust through everyone's hair.
We are off to Hickstead next week. A three hour trip (on paper), with a night of camping somewhere near Brighton and a day of bloody pony related ghastliness. I hope they have some decent beer tents and I can persuade Jo to drive home afterwards. Jezebel is back in the garage today to see if a mechanic can find that elusive first gear. It's in there somewhere, I'm sure of it.
We were in a camp site near the beach. As the crow flies, only 100 metres from the beach. Alas, this is a vertical 100 metres we are talking about and any crows that were inclined to fly would have been several miles inland the moment they took off. The camp site itself wasn't exactly flat. From the narrow road that led to it there was a steep incline and the camp site had terracing to provide small flat parking/camping areas.
So, this is what Jezebel, with me at the wheel, was facing as I looked up from the road. A daunting prospect. Especially with the mysterious lack of first gear in our gearbox. The one gear I could really do with in such a time of emergency. I gave her a bit of a run up, floored the accelerator and got by using the power of prayer, pleading and the odd expletive as she chugged to the top of the slope on the verge of the camp site, right on the verge of stalling. Phew.
 |
| Nice weather before the rain set in 30 minutes later. |
 |
| Lucas's bedroom for one night. |
The camping was an experience. With the pop top not currently functioning (I think it could have acted as a huge sail if we had put it up), Lucas dropped off to sleep on a mattress in the boot area whilst we chatted and drank beer in the lounge area with my chum Mike, down for the evening from Surrey. We still haven't got flooring or cupboards in yet so our gear was free to roam around the interior on our journey down there.
The engine is currently behaving well. The service did the trick, eventually. New oil, filters and plugs had her running sweetly....for the first 20 metres. She then stopped dead and had to be pushed back in to the garage. A bit of tinkering and sanding of contacts in the distributor did the trick and she drove down to B&Q like a dream. Purring quietly on the bypass, compared to the rattles, coughs and splutters we had before that made you have to shout at your passengers.
After coming out of B&Q, she wouldn't start. I repeated the trick with the distributor and lo and behold, I was off again. 200 metres later, I wasn't. Outside KFC, parked at a funny angle on double yellows, I was again fiddling with HT leads, distributor cap and rotor arm. 10 minutes and after some advice from an AA man, I was off again. For 50 metres. Breakdown number 4. This was soon after followed by breakdown 5 of the day on Swannery Bridge. The adjustments made with some pliers and a hammer seemed to do the trick though. Since then, she has been running like a dream.
So, I now have a functioning pop top. Lucas has been up there, claiming the large double bed as his own. I've ripped off the ghastly carpet stuff from the roof boards as it was disintegrating and spreading fluff and dust through everyone's hair.
We are off to Hickstead next week. A three hour trip (on paper), with a night of camping somewhere near Brighton and a day of bloody pony related ghastliness. I hope they have some decent beer tents and I can persuade Jo to drive home afterwards. Jezebel is back in the garage today to see if a mechanic can find that elusive first gear. It's in there somewhere, I'm sure of it.
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