Summer 2015 and the re-conditioned driver’s seat is wonderfully comfy and looks great (when compared to how it was and from a distance). However, it showed up how bad the passenger seat was and I’d been feeling a little bit guilty that my wife and daughters had to suffer it.

So, when no-one bothered on Father’s day, I decided to treat myself to the necessary to re-condition it (among some other insignificant car related items.)
My Father’s day treats to me arrived and I thought I’d start on something simple.

My 1st job was to repair the intermittent horn that is the bane of my MOT man’s life. It never works for him but I arrive, give it a press and hey presto a working horn and a baffled MOT man. (I know just where to position the wheel to where it works…is that bad of me?) Anyway, I fitted a new slip ring and brush and all in perfect working order now. The only problem was that without resorting to acrobatics and contortions I wasn’t able to work out how to remove the cable trunking under the column to run the new wire from the slip ring. So, it is temporarily taped to the outside of the column until I am more inclined to go upside down in the foot well to work it all out.

Next, it was finally time to tackle the passenger seat. Having already done the driver’s seat, I was fairly confident. I pulled out the passenger seat, stripped off the covers and swept up what was left of cushions from the floor. Nearly all the back straps were broken but I had anticipated this and ordered new ones along with the cushions. I also removed the diaphragm which promptly and catastrophically fell apart. It had looked ok when I inspected it in the car, so I hadn’t ordered a replacement but that was soon rectified. Well, when I say “inspected” what I meant was, given it a casual glance when the seat was raised to allow a back seat passenger access and thought “oh good, it’s not broken!” There was one surprise though. When I pulled the base cover off, a car key fell out. It fitted the ignition perfectly and started the car. It looks like it might be an original key which I think is quite cool.

The seat frame was actually in rather good condition having benefited from not having had a fat bloke sitting in it but the “clip rails” still needed slight straightening and I rubbed it all down and gave it a couple of coats of Smoothrite and left it to dry and await the arrival of the diaphragm.
​
This left me with the opportunity to “have a go” at one of my other long term niggles with the car. No, not the incontinent gearbox, but the extremely faded paint on the top decks. It was more dusty pink than signal red and I was fed up with having to defend it at car shows etc. Why do so many people expect all classic cars to be pristine trailer queens capable of a good showing at a concourse event? They seem to enjoy and think they have the right to point out all my cars defects! I KNOW WHAT THE DEFECTS ARE. I drive mine regularly and the paint is 25 years old. Unfortunately, I don’t have the money, space, equipment or time to re-spray it every couple of years or spend hours and hours cleaning every nook and cranny with a toothbrush! It’s a CAR NOT A SCULPTURE!.......Oh dear…sorry….I got a bit carried away and went into full on rant mode… no disrespect intended to owners of trailer queens, concourse winners or toothbrush wielders…It’s your car and I admire you for your dedication and results…just not my thing…sorry again and rant over….

I’d tried to tackle this problem several times before with various types of paint restorers from t-cut to Autoglym’s paint restorer and got mixed results. So I’d started to flirt with the idea of trying to re-spray it panel by panel with rattle cans but there was one process I hadn’t yet tried as I didn’t have the equipment, cutting compound and an electric polisher.

A Silverline electric sander/polisher was the other “insignificant” car related item purchased, along with Maguire’s Ultimate Compound which is formulated for use with electric polishers. So, I lovingly removed my new toy from its box and assembled it and plugged it in. Then, with a maniacal laugh, I attacked the car!

I’d never used an electric polisher before… The good news was that the bonnet, rear deck, fins and door tops all looked fantastically red and shiny again. I was really pleased with them and they way they came up. On these results, I would recommend the process as a last resort to anyone, and the bad news? Well, I was planning on re-spraying the boot lid and lower passenger door anyway. At least I have an electric sander for the preparation!

A couple of weeks later, and for the 1st time in my ownership I now had 2 plump and padded front seats to match the plump and padded driver! All new straps, diaphragms and padding were assembled to the restored frame before refitting the original covers to the passenger seat.

​It all went surprisingly smoothly benefiting from the experience gained on the driver’s seat earlier in the year. I even managed to hide the horn wire without resorting to ungainliness.

Obviously I then had to take her out on a test drive after fitting the seats in case she now goes any faster after all that work and it was on this test drive something happened that made my day.

I was at a roundabout in the left hand lane and an Aston Martin DB9 convertible pulled up in the lane next to me. A white van man stuck in traffic on the roundabout shouted "nice car mate!” the chap in the DB9 waved nonchalantly and white van man says, " No. Not you, the red one!"

I might have smiled smugly...just a bit...and waved nonchalantly at the white van man or I might have laughed out loud and given White van man a huge thumbs’ up. What do you think?
​
Later in the summer, we had Ana, an American exchange student from Gar Field Virginia staying with us and she seemed very impressed by Poppy and insisted on being driven everywhere in her. (Who said Americans have bad taste!) Poppy caused quite a stir with the rest of the American students and their teachers when I turned up to collect them from various events during the week. We had great fun introducing Ana to the sites of England and the pleasures of open top classic motoring

The summer continued and we continued having fun days out in Poppy. This included a great day out at the Gloucester Steam Fair among others, with my cousin and his Boys. It’s a really good show if any of you are in the area. I think I might have talked my cousin into buying a Triumph Spitfire too, but shhhh... I don’t think his wife knows yet!

The rest of the summer passed in a blur of green lanes and the wind in what’s left of my hair until it was time put her away for the bad weather, only to be taken out on those bright cold frosty days.

​That is ... until Gar Cole announced the groups Coventry meet for November. It’ll be one of those bright frosty sunny days though won’t it?

Well I’d only gone and done it hadn’t I? It’d been 14 years since deciding it needed doing but in April 2015 it got so bad that it had to be done! Fanfare and drum roll please!!..... I actually sorted out my driver’s seat!! No. Really. I had. I’ve even got photo’s to prove it.
 
Here’s what happens when a fat bloke sits in a 45 year old chair for 14 years!

I actually started preparing for this daunting task in 2014 when I saw a very distressed and lonely 13/60 Herald seat on the great Bay of E. The covers were in a dreadful state, all covered in mould and tears with the foam padding leaking out of the holes. However, from the photos, the frame looked OK and I needed a frame so I put in a desultory low bid and to my surprise, I actually won it for 6 whole English Pounds plus the diesel to collect it. Quite a bargain I thought.
 
When I got the seat home I stripped off the offending covers and foam (and boy did they offend!) to reveal that all straps and diaphragms had also gone to meet their maker. The frame was also covered in surface rust and the rail that the base cover clips onto was rather severely bent.
 
So I immediately threw out all the rubbish and hid the frame in the shed so Mrs FB wouldn’t laugh at me.
 
I then started buying the 2 new foam cushions, diaphragm and back straps one piece a month as well as a vinyl/leather repair kit. I had decided to repair and reuse my existing covers. Possibly because shiny new ones would stand out like the proverbial in a punch bowl among all the nicely patina’d interior of the car, or, I couldn’t afford shiny new ones but I now had all I needed except the courage to start.
  
It took a couple of weeks to psyche myself up to the task and thought it best to start with the spare seat frame which I immediately attacked with a hammer and various shaped bits of metal and surprisingly quickly had  the bent rail straightened. AND…apart from a “Tom and Jerry” thumb I hadn’t actually broken anything!
 
It probably doesn’t look straight to all you perfectionists and experts out there, but for my very 1st attempt at trying to “shape” metal, I’m quite pleased with myself and I WILL cry if anyone is rude about it.

Next I rubbed down the frame to remove the worst of the rust before brush painting it with 2 coats of black “Smoothrite” (It’ll all be covered up anyway!). 

​After it was dry, I fitted up all the strapping and after drilling new holes, the, what turned out to be a TR6, diaphragm. Then I had to touch up all the scratches resulting from the metal hooks and my ham-fistedness.

​It was now time to get my long-suffering old seat out of the car. I very carefully removed the covers and took very careful note of where all the various clips and springs came from and stored them carefully in a jam jar. Which I then knocked over and spread them all across the patio.
 
I cleaned the covers with “soft top” cleaner and left them in the conservatory to “condition” in the hot sun. (I know! April? In the UK too?)
 
Actually, when I got my old seat stripped down it doesn’t look as bad as I thought. What do you reckon? Do you think I should put it up for auction?

The inevitable then happened; Mrs FB came in and asked why there were bits of old car seat all over her conservatory. I think she was a bit taken aback by my reply that it was because I didn’t think she’d want them in the dining room, but hey, my black eye soon faded.
 
The two new foam cushions were put in place and now the wrestling match really began as I tried to fit the covers as neatly as possible. I won in the end and had them all fitted and clipped into place. The final job was to use the vinyl/leather repair kit on the two small tears which was really rather fiddly but the repairs look OK from a distance (quite a big distance) and I’m really rather happy with the results.
 
Before you look at the culmination of all this hard work and artistry, please remember that I wasn’t aiming for a showroom, concourse winning seat and in that I think I have definitely succeeded! But at least my bottom is now as happy as the rest of me to be driving around in Poppy! 

​Poppy went through the MOT with no problems and the mechanic even complimented me on the driver’s seat as it had crippled him last time!

Do you dream about discovering a forgotten classic in some corner of a dusty garage?  Or tucked away in a barn? Always some other lucky S.O.B. Never going to happen to you, right?

Think again! 

About twenty years ago now, I was collecting my older son from his friend's house, about a third of a mile from my own just outside of Milwaukee, WI. The house was, and still is, rather run-down and poorly maintained, being occupied at the time by the boy's divorced mother.

The garage is situated at the end of a dirt driveway at the front of the house, with the house being set back behind and above the garage.  Two old-fashioned doors are set with a number of small windows, all of them dirty, and one of which was broken.  The opaque plastic sheet that was taped up to cover it had come away. I had to walk across the front of the garage to access the entrance to the house, and I do not know of any car enthusiast who will walk past a garage without looking in if the opportunity was there. Not that I would open the doors, or clean a window so that I could see in, but if there is a missing window, and you are walking past it, I would defy anyone to resist a quick peek.
​
What I saw made me stop in my tracks, and go back for a proper look. It was a steering wheel. It sat in the cockpit of what was obviously an open car, but quite what was not really apparent until my eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the garage.

​The wheel was large, white, with four spokes and a Jaguar's head on the boss. The car itself was white, or used to be, and from the shape of the car, buried under old sheets and debris, it was old. Very old. 

I went to the house, collected my son, and mentioned as casually as I could that I had noticed the car in the garage, and was it a Jaguar? Yes, came the reply, it was, and would I like to take a look at it?  Silly question…

She unlocked the doors to the garage, which had obviously not been opened for some time, and there, under a few sheets and a lot of clutter, sat the car. I recognised that this was an XK120 and as you can understand, a little surge of adrenaline kicked in. I asked if I could pull the things off the car, which was okay with her, and I began to "take a look".

​There was no rust, anywhere, on the body. The spats that covered the rear wheels were off the car, leaning against the far wall. There was rust on plenty of other things in this garage, but none on the car itself. Was this one of the alloy bodied cars? Not saying anything I made a mental note of the Chassis, or VIN number, which was 670010. 
​

I asked her who this car belonged to, and was told that the car was her ex-husband’s.  He had nowhere else to store it when they divorced, and so the car stayed in the garage. The Jaguar had been left to him by his father, who was the second owner, and the car had been brought on a trailer to Wisconsin from New Jersey. The New Jersey plates were still on the car. The Jaguar, which hadn’t run since before the old man had died, was then partially stripped, at which point the son had lost interest, and left things where they were. Then came the divorce, etcetera.

I asked if he might want to sell it, in the hope that he didn't know what he had. She said that he knew it was special, but that he might want sell it. He had, apparently, been making plans to drop a V-8 in the car and making it into a hotrod…

I went home and dug out my books. Sure enough, the chassis number corresponded with an alloy-bodied 1949 Jaguar XK120OTS. I can still remember the thrill at the time. Here was something that I had only dreamed about, and it had happened, but it was obvious that I was getting out of my league, and if this car were to be saved I would need to give the chance of ownership to somebody who could do it justice.

I called a guy that I had known for a couple of years, who already had an extensive collection of British cars and who, I knew, was looking for another car.  After explaining what it was that I'd found he grew very quiet, and told me that he'd be down here as soon as he could.

That weekend he drove down, not being able to leave any earlier due to business appointments, and he was as excited by the car as I was. Having put the two parties together, I stepped back and let them get on with negotiations. 

My friend the enthusiast finally bought the car, and it was obvious that the owner had not known just how special that car really was.
​
The XK120 has now been totally restored, no expense spared. I have seen it, and it is gorgeous!  The new owner, following that restoration, won every prize possible on the JCNA show circuit, and has since been driving it regularly in classic events including two trips with the car to the UK. 

​I am thrilled that the old girl found such a good home.  I could not have afforded to restore it to this standard, and for such an early, important car as this no other course of action would have been right.

This is the car as it is now:

What a difference money and a lot of attention to detail can make!
​
If you keep your eyes and ears open while you are going about your daily routine (especially in areas with older houses) you never know what you'll find.  If it's happened for me then it can happen to any of us!  The "before" shots were taken the day that I went to help the new owner drag the car out of its long-term storage in the damp garage. The "after" shots were taken in the summer of 2010. It was dragged, as well, the brakes being seized solid!

As a postscript, the friend who had bought the car was killed in a hit-and-run in Thailand several years ago. Where his XK120 is now I do not know. 

It is now early Spring 2015, Poppy and I ventured out for our first trip this year when it was beautifully sunny. 

We had a blast. She was pressed into service as my daughter’s taxi for the weekend as well as running all my errands and taking me for a grin-laden pleasure cruise around the green lanes of North Wilts. She performed faultlessly.

However, as is always the case it would appear, my incompetence reared its head again! I lost my one and only key to my council lock-up. It must have fallen out of my pocket at some stage during my taxi and errand running duties. I searched the inside of the car and then I fully retraced my steps to carry out a thorough search of all the areas I'd left the car which included being on my hands and knees peering under various cars in four different car parks.

This led to a number of strange, slightly hostile conversations with several members of the public and narrowly talking myself out of being arrested by the local plastic plod. However, all to no avail!

Poppy was now having to brave the worsening weather on my exposed and windswept drive. A call to the council landlord on Monday revealed that my one and only key was indeed THE one and only key - but not to worry - they could send out a locksmith to change the locks as long as I handed over a large wad of money with a debit or credit card. Oh but he won’t be able to come out until the end of the week.

On the plus side, I was now "forced" to use Poppy for my daily commute all that week. If she was going to be out in the rain, she might as well provide some enjoyment - I can't remember the last time I drove with the roof up!

Anyway I now had a shiny new lock on my lock-up and was provided with two new keys which are now attached to both sets of car keys rather than on their own. I have also had another spare cut! Poppy was then snuggled up back in the lock up.

Another plus is that I now had the motivation as well as all the foam and straps and spare frame to FINALLY repair the driver’s seat so watch this space.

I will keep you informed of what else I broke when I tried this at home!! 

If you are paying attention you'll know that I'd just re-commissioned and re-sprayed my bargain buy Mk 2.

​The newly concreted drive was courtesy of the job. Any readymix company frequently finds itself with surplus concrete to dispose of, mainly due to over estimated orders. In such cases the customer of course still has to pay for the full amount whether they use it or not. As a consequence of this a list was kept of people who would take smaller amounts at short notice and discount prices.

​Usually these waste sales were put into a pot and shared among the workers for a bit of a Christmas booze up. When we bought the newly built house (£2,950) the drive was going to be an extra £150, in the event it cost me about £25 plus a pint or three for the mate who helped me lay it. Even allowing for inflation it would be great to have those prices now.
 
Anyway there I was pleased as punch showing off my gleaming new steed to all and sundry, and basking in the praise for a job well done. The Cortina ran like clockwork for about 2 months or so until......

We were in an amateur dramatic group at the time and rehearsing for the next production two nights a week. The hall were we performed was directly opposite the multi storey car park, so parking was never an issue. This particular night I arranged to meet Anne there after I finished work as the rehearsal was for 7.00 o'clock. I parked as usual in the multi storey, noticed Anne had parked on the road outside the hall,got through the rehearsal and leaving Anne at her car and telling her I'd see her at home went into the car park for the Cortina.

​When I'd arrived I'd been running a bit late, so when I saw a space where I thought I'd parked I just put it down to being rushed and thought I must be on the wrong level. Not so! After searching all four levels and the street I had to admit to myself that my , by now beloved, Cortina had been stolen. Fortunately the Police station was only about 5 mins. walk, so off I went.
 
Arriving at the station I was greeted by that quintessential English sight, a completely deserted front desk, which remained that way until I rang the bell for a second time. This prompted the arrival on the scene of a quintessentially English Desk Sergeant. He proceeded in a leisurely fashion until settling himself behind the counter he eventually asked me if he could help me.

​I started to tell him about my stolen car, only to be interrupted while he found the correct form to use. After taking down my own details, name, address etc., we finally got round to details regarding the car. "Make?", "Ford", "Colour", "Red", "Model", "Cortina" , a quiet chuckle, then, "Ah, the favourite". I can't tell you how good it felt to find some-one who found some humour in the situation. Barely able to stop myself joining in his chuckles, or was it barely being able to stop myself trying to strangle him, we eventually got it all down on paper. His parting words as I walked out were, "Don't hold your breath". so I set out to catch a bus home and break the news to Anne that she'd be catching the bus to work for a while. That went down well!

I notified the insurance co. the next morning and was told that if it didn't turn up within three weeks they'd pay me out average market value. Average! After all that time and effort it felt like an insult.

I didn't have the cash to buy another car so had to wait the three weeks until the cheque arrived. I looked for a Cortina in comparable condition but they were all too dear, so off to the auctions I went, and finished up buying a Vauxhall Victor. The Victor looked really good and I was feeling pleased with myself for having bought a bargain. For all of two days.

The Victor obviously had a bit of an artistic streak, because it decorated my nice clean concrete with a beautifully shaped oil stain. This turned out to be from the rocker cover, so I fitted a new gasket. The following day it was leaking again and after close examination I found the rocker cover was warped, so I fitted a new one.

Within two or three days it then decided that three cyls. were quite sufficient and checking the plugs I found one of them resembling a wet afro wig. It ran for a couple of days then fouled up again. By this time I hated the sight of it, sat there seemingly mocking me every time I looked out the window. It had to go! And go it did, straight back into the auction with a new set of plugs I fitted about 200 yds. from the gate. If I felt any guilt at all about selling such a lemon it was tempered by the thought that nobody had felt sorry for me when I bought it.
 
The whole Victor fiasco left me seriously out of pocket, so when I was told about some-one selling a 2ltr. Triumph Vitesse that I could afford I was round there double quick. No impulse buying this time. I went through the Vitesse with a fine tooth comb. And - found absolutely nothing wrong with it. No oil leaks, no knocks,no rattles , no rot, all instruments and switches working and driving perfectly.

​The lad who was selling it was at university which brings me to the one thing I wasn't keen on. The colour scheme. For some reason known only to himself and whoever supplied him with whatever he was on at the time he'd decided to customise the paintwork. Now you're probably thinking it was something outrageous like dayglow orange or some such. Oh no, he'd been much more inventive - it was in camouflage complete with the Allies white star on each door and the bonnet. Different to say the least. I didn't fancy the idea of another paint job, especially with the amount of time it would take to remove the paint now on it, BUT, I told myself, it's in perfect condition apart from that, and the test drive had been great. A really enjoyable car to drive, so I bought a Vitesse masquerading as a world war two staff car.
 
Next time :- more Cortina capers.

No further spannering had been done for a while that summer of 2014, but there was lots of driving and lots of fun.

I went to the Tetbury car show with my local "Royal Wootton Bassett Classic Car Club" and had a great day out. 12 of us set out in Convoy from RWB and all made it to the event. The event was great with over 500 vehicles present plus a Dalek...which one of our members bought!
 
On another trip, 20 classic cars left RWB for the Defence academy in Shrivenham where we spent the evening clambering over and in all sorts of military vehicles (Well the ones I could fit in anyway  - the Russian T34 was definitely not built with humans in mind let alone FB's) this was followed by fish and chips in a car park. Another great evening!
 
It was capped off by my clutch pedal going all floppy and refusing to disengage the clutch on the way home. It was very dark so I pressed on and Poppy didn't let me down and got me home yet again but it was an interesting and challenging drive!
 
So I had an excuse to do some investigative spannering and discovered that all my clutch fluid had disappeared! I traced the system from the master cylinder all the way through to the slave and found no obvious signs of leakage so topped it back up and gave a quick bleed and all was working tickety boo, but decided to do something about it to prevent re occurrence. 
 
After seeking advice, general consensus was that the culprit would be the slave cylinder so I decided to replace all the seals in both the master and slave cylinders and bought the seal kits accordingly. Removing the Master from the car was a simple job, helped by the fact that I've already removed the brake MC twice this year. The 2nd as a result of my ham fisted, heavy handed incompetence leading to a cross threading of the pipe union in the MC resulting in the need for the new MC and brake pipe detailed earlier in my tale. (I promised to try to be more careful this time!)

​I also had previous experience of the working on the slave so, from the dubious comfort of my unpadded driver seat, I set about removing the gear knob, radio speaker, carpet, gear lever grommet, gearbox tunnel and insulating pad which was all much easier than trying to reach the slave from underneath. Once all that was done, the slave come out quite easily and both were taken home for re sealing.

The parts arrived and because I've learned my lesson, I wall papered the utility room in newspaper so Mrs FB wouldn't have an excuse to hospitalise me for inappropriate car maintenance within the household boundaries.
 
Once all surfaces had been hermetically sealed in this fashion, I set about the master cylinder and very quickly had a nice clean and resealed part ready for service. As this had all gone according to plan I set about the slave.
 
The "no longer available" metal cap was gently prised off with a big screwdriver and a pipe wrench with very little damage and set aside for reuse later. All the grease was removed followed by the circlip and the piston was coaxed from the chamber and rubber seal removed.
 
The work area was somewhat cluttered now so I decided to clear away all the greasy paper towels and no longer required parts and chucked it all in the wheelie bin. This was shortly before I discovered that the slave cylinder seal kit did not include a new circlip like the MC kit did! As none of my usual stockists sell this particular part, I had to decide whether to just buy a new slave or to wade through the wheelie bin to find the old circlip.
 
Well a new slave cylinder is 30 quid and as regular readers will know I am terminally skint so I waded through the 10 days of rubbish in the wheelie bin.(2 weeks between collections!!) After an hour of this unpleasantness, I finally located the circlip which had, of course, worked itself to the very bottom of the bin!
 
I was lovingly cleaning the circlip as I walked back into the utility room where I promptly stood on and crushed the "no longer available" metal cap which had rolled un-noticed onto the floor. I may have said some bad words as I was cleaning up before going to order a new slave cylinder.
 
The new slave cylinder arrived and was quickly fitted along with the resealed clutch Master Cylinder. All was bled through and Gearbox tunnel carpet and radio all refitted. As I could now change gear, I went for a nice sunny ride in the surrounding country side.
 
Does anyone know how to get newsprint off of utility walls?

It was still the summer of 2014 we were having plenty of “Bring your classics to work” days. (30 mile round trip) and a longer trip to the Bristol Classic car show but other than that, she very quickly fell back into the role of family fun vehicle and we loved every minute.

As mentioned earlier, the blown headlamp gave me the excuse to fit a halogen conversion which turned out to be just a simple and straight forward direct replacement.

​Poppy then leapt into action to jump start my girls Daewoo which had been standing around since my Mum died. She left it to the girls but it’s waiting to be got back on the road when we can afford the insurance.
 
After all the usage she was getting, I noticed, she was running a bit lumpy until fully warmed up and then problem cleared. One morning though, she threw a tantrum and refused point blank to take me to work! I had to use the company Civic so eldest daughter wasn’t amused when she woke up and discovered she had no car to use that day. (I really should have got her Daewoo on the road.)

At least Poppy had the good grace to break down on the drive rather than the roadside so I forgave her and can still say that that she has never let me down on the road...well...apart from when the points closed up on me...oh... and when the security cut out switch melted...but apart from those 2 occasions, she has never let me down on the road. (And I got her going again both times without resorting to recovery men so they don't count do they?).

A very quick check revealed that fuel was getting to Stromberg’s finest achievement so I suspected the ignition side. I planned to work through the ignition system replacing plugs points and leads at the weekend. If that didn’t work, I would replace the coil which was still the one that came with the car when I bought her.
 
Although I was a bit miffed at not driving to work in an open car on this gloriously sunny day, and as much as I love driving Poppy, it was nice to slip into the air-conditioned comfort of the Honda and enjoy the absolute confidence of being able to complete my drive... oh dear. Did I say that out loud? I've let the side down haven't I? Does this mean I will be banned from the Classic Car Community? I will bring cake if that would help?
 
Anyway, the following weekend found me back at work on my dear old girl trying to find the source of my ignition woes. I'd changed the condenser, points, rotor arm, dizzy cap, leads and plugs and still she wouldn't ****** start!!

The only thing I hadn't changed was the coil...which was on order from Canley. There was definitely fuel getting to the carb and I was fairly certain it was getting to the chambers as I could smell it when checking for a spark at the plugs.

When the new coil arrived, I changed that too, but still no joy. So I decided to replace all the low tension wiring but still to no avail. So I did the only thing left to me, I fiddled about with stuff! I did get her going in the end but it’s too embarrassing to tell you what was wrong…oh ok then…

​The timing was 90deg out....well ok...somehow the HT leads had been fitted the wrong way round which wasn’t embarrassing at all was it? I think the original problem may have been the condenser or maybe a worn heel on the points so would have been a cheap and easy fix if I... er ...I mean someone...was competent enough to fit the HT leads correctly.
 
Further, with the amount of driving I'd been doing, the front seats had finally given up and really were dreadfully uncomfortable. So much so that I was forced to actually do something about it. So, I stole some of Mrs FB's scatter cushions from the lounge. I don’t think she noticed.

17th May 2014. The last weekend before the Prom found Poppy back in pride of place on the drive at home next to a huge pile of cleaning products (Halfords had a 3 for 2 offer!) 

As the weekend progressed The pile of cleaning products diminished as Poppy 1st returned to being red and then became steadily shinier and sparklier and she was almost ready for the Prom the following Friday.
 
A quick wipe over on the afternoon of the Prom and now, she was ready to transport my youngest to her big night. Poppy got her there in style and performed faultlessly. Again both Poppy and my daughter received lots of positive comments and a great night was had by all. I even managed to keep my cricket bat unused!

​Well Poppy was now well and truly back on the road and I was looking forward to enjoying a glorious British summer of top down classic motoring (ahem), but, as always, there were jobs still to do...

• There was now next to no padding at all in the front seats.
•  The nearside headlamp had now blown so maybe an excuse to fit a halogen conversion?
•  The heater hasn’t worked for ages so I should take that off and try and get that sorted.
•  And of course, the gearbox was still suffering from incontinence... 

 
Did I set to and get these jobs done as soon as possible? …Of course not! I was having much too much fun driving her around the green lanes of England!
 
One Saturday in July the green lanes took me on a trip up to TSSC's Triumfest at Donnington Park, on a whim (to avoid a list of jobs prepared for me by Mrs FB!) and to see if I fancied joining up again.

As you can see from photo's earlier on in the blog, I went to TSSC's international weekend in Stafford several times and enjoyed it enormously. There was plenty to do even for day trippers. There were full exhibition halls and plenty of cars in the "car park" in addition to the full evening entertainments. Therefore I was expecting similar this time.

Unfortunately, I was rather disappointed with the show. It was £17 to get in with a day ticket, and then very little there when I got in. There were hardly any cars in the car park. They were all still in the campsite, next to no traders and no exhibition halls. It must have been disappointing for the organisers.

I’m sure I was just expecting too much and It was probably just me and being a “day tripper”. I'm sure it would have been much better if I'd gone up for the weekend with my local section. (Unfortunately, there isn't a local section local to me!) I would have certainly fancied watching the Italian Job at the "Drive in" on Saturday night and the evening socialising reports did sound good.

On the plus side I did get to see the ADU 1B Le Man Spitfire in action and I spent a few very pleasant minutes chatting to a couple of clowns... No really...they were professional clowns with a really beautiful red Herald Coupe and a green convertible with a (Shorrocks?) supercharger fitted. Thanks Chaps! If you’re here, I'm sorry about my "Do the doors fall off?" joke but it was out of my mouth before I had the time to think that you may have heard it before...once or twice...

One more plus was the 230 mile round trip in Poppy with the roof down on a glorious day! I took theA361/A429 which was fantastic fun and then picked up M40/M42/A42. Not so much fun but a good endurance trial! The drive there and back was a blast and Poppy performed faultlessly.

I passed my driving test in August 1976 at the second attempt. ​

​The first test didn't go to plan when I accidentally selected third gear instead of fourth on the hill start and got stranded in the middle of a busy junction (Toledo gearboxes) and followed that with a sideways emergency stop, luckily on a quiet road!

Well it was hardly my fault that my test took place on the first morning of rain after a long dry and warm Spring - didn't stand a chance! Anyway, the second one must have been deemed better as the Examiner handed me a pass slip and I was then free to take to the open road. This was handy as I had a Morris 1000 parked on my parents drive that I had bought for the grand sum of fifty quid the previous Easter. 
 
Now you didn't get much for fifty quid even in 1976, so I had bought a car with three fibre glass wings. It did come with a fourth which was the only surviving metal one as fitted by the factory. The colour was interesting, it was Safari Yellow. For those of you too young to have first hand experience of this colour, it is difficult for me to explain in printable terms its exact shade. I'm not sure if I could describe it in printable words so we will gloss over that and just add that it was quite a popular colour in the 70's. Mind you, any colour that required the use of dark glasses to look at it in the 70's, even in the dark, was a popular colour. But I digress.

​This car had been sat on the drive and not stirred a wheel for near on five months but I had kept the engine running and the battery topped up. I had also been 'smartening up' the paint. Not having the equipment, the space or the skill to spray paint a car was a handicap but thank God for those tins of touch up paint! I must have cleared out the local auto-factor of every tin of Safari Yellow he had and it's only now as I sit writing this that I realised the significance of the shop owner standing at his doorway rubbing his hands together as he saw me coming down the street and the thick layer of dust that seemed to coat every tin I bought. He only lacked a stutter and a 'buy two for three' offer on the stand and he would have given Ronnie Barker a run for his money! In fairness, the result was not too bad considering it was applied with a brush and was quite passable at a distance of ten feet. It looked particularly good under the lights of the local petrol station at night.
 
Well, test pass in hand, I set about insuring the car and obtaining a Road Fund Licence. In those days the only way of taxing a car for the first time was to send off to the DVLA. I can't remember the full details of my financial status at that time but given the price of the car, I can't imagine I was going to be a millionaire anytime soon but I do recall I paid for the Road Fund Licence with Postal Orders. I then taped the receipt parts to the inside of the passenger side of the front windscreen as proof of 'Tax in Post'. 

After I left Wimpenny's I didn't have much to do with the Cortina's, save the odd service on Anne's father's car. That is until we jump to 1975, which finds me a responsible?, married, mortgaged young man running a 2ltr.Triumph Vitesse, and working on fleet maintenance for a ready mix concrete company

Steetly had a large number of ready mix plants throughout England, plus quarries and chemical plants and later became part of what is now Redland.PLC. One could be forgiven for thinking that  such a large thriving concern would have thoroughly modern facilities : not so! The garage at Brighouse was what I'd describe as functional but in no way luxurious. A large shed with a long pit, small office in one corner, even smaller canteen area in the other corner and the stores , compressor and generator in built on lean to's.  There was mains electricity, the generator had been installed in 1973 due to the three day week imposed by the government.

​Our younger readers who don't know what I'm talking about should Google it, they may find it gives them some insight into what life was like in the 70's, it wasn't all glam rock! One thing we did lack was mains water. Tea being an absolute necessity for the smooth running of any garage this meant we had to bring in fresh water on a daily basis. This was done from the local café along with the best bacon and tomato teacakes I've ever eaten. Before anyone starts  casting aspersions about strange eating habits I should point out that contrary to  most of England, in West Yorkshire a tea cake is a plain bread cake and does not contain currants. The washing facilities could only be described as primitive consisting of a 45 gallon drum which was outside so as to catch rainwater off the roof. Any other water needed came courtesy of the canal.  
 
The site had originally provided access across a canal bridge to a gravel pit operation which was now flooded and used as a fishery stocked with trout. The ready mix plant was sited on the opposite bank of the canal and drew it's water directly from it. Above the ready mix plant was the garage, and directly across from that was a large barn with a pit that served as a overflow garage when needed. Also on the site was the regional lab facility where sample concrete cubes were tested. The area served by us covered West and North Yorkshire where we had about 6 ready mix plants and about the same number of quarries which supplied the aggregate for the concrete. The mixer fleet was mainly Leyland Reivers with a couple of Fodens and later on two Ford D1000's. The latter it must be said gave more trouble than any of the others. The tipper fleet again was mostly Foden. This was were I came to appreciate just how good Gardner engines were.
 
So you've got the background, now to the Cortina.
 
When I started at Steetly's I noticed a dust covered 1967 MK2 Cortina parked outside the Lab looking rather sorry for itself. When I'd been there a few months and settled in I found out that the Cortina belonged to one of the junior lab technicians called if I remember correctly his name was Mark. The body work had a fair few battle scars but nothing majorly wrong with it, and Mark said it had been stood for over a year after the front suspension struts had started knocking and ceased doing their job. He'd started using a motorbike as it was a lot cheaper and he preferred the bike anyway. I was definitely interested. Although he assured me that it had been running perfectly apart from the struts I wanted to be sure before buying it, so fitting a spare battery and checking the points, I tried the starter and was pleasantly surprised when after only a few cranks the engine spluttered into life.

​It quickly settled down to a steady tick-over and when revved sounded perfect. When I tried to select a gear however all I got was a terrible clatter and a stalled engine. The clutch was obviously not working and a quick check of the release lever movement confirmed my suspicion that the centre plate was stuck to the flywheel. Starting it in gear I proceeded to drive it around the yard , all the time changing up and down gears to try shock the centre plate free. It did eventually break free and operated perfectly afterwards. This little exercise also confirmed that the gearbox synchro's were in excellent order. So I bought myself a Dark red 1600 super. I can't remember what I paid but it can't have been much knowing me.

I was in work early on Monday 12th May 2014 and as expected, I had soon located everything I would need to fit the electric washer pump. It was all in the scrap bins to be thrown away…honest!

I booked the Tuesday off work and optimistically booked the MOT and set up some insurance. Then had to try and concentrate to do some work, which wasn’t easy!
 
Tuesday morning found me sat on the front door step waiting for the postie. I eventually saw her sauntering up the road in her own good time. Didn’t she realise I was in a hurry? I snatched our post off of her and threw anything that didn’t look like it contained my goodies into the house, Jumped into the Honda and left the surprised looking Postie in my dust.
​
On arrival at my lock up I set to immediately. Out came the drill and the pack of Tesco Value drill bits that I’d bought on a whim some time ago. Unfortunately, Tesco Value drill bits are made of chocolate. The 1st one snapped before I’d even pressed the trigger on the drill and the 2nd one didn’t last much longer and barely scratched the paint.
 
Fortunately, we have one of those very rare independent hardware stores on our High Street. (Well it is ROYAL Wootton Bassett after all). It is a family run business called Rouse and Sons and is an Aladdin’s cave of goodies. It stocks everything from 5 bar gates and animal food troughs down to a packet of washers. Oddly, It also has a well-stocked kitchen department and as baking is my 2nd hobby, I have been known to spend days mooching around in there. Not today though, I purchased my new non-chocolate drills and was soon back at the lock up and had everything fitted wired and plumbed in very fast time.
 
Poppy was now ready to be offered up for judgement to the man from the ministry. I drove her out of the garage and ventured onto public roads for the 1st time in 3 years. The ½ mile to the test centre was covered faultlessly. After a final satisfactory prod of the washer button and horn, I handed over the keys and set off on the walk home with a heart mostly full of dread and, dare I say, just a little hope.
 
After 90 of the longest minutes of my life, the phone rang. I picked up the receiver to a cheerful sounding mechanic. I worry when they are cheerful. “I’m sorry to say that she has failed” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. My heart sank to the floor. Whilst she’d been on the axle stands I had cast my inexpert eye under her and not spotted any gaping holes in the floor or chassis but what did I know, I’m just an incompetent bumbling fool and visions of an expensive weld-a-thon flashed before my eyes. I forced back the tears and with bottom lip a-trembling and a very un-manly squeaky voice, I heard myself say “What on?” “The screen washers. They don’t work at all” he said, still sounding annoyingly cheerful. “That’s odd” I said. “They were working when I dropped it off…You did spot the electric pump didn’t you?” “Ahh…Hold on a minute” he put the phone down and I heard his footsteps fading into the distance. After a short pause, I heard his footsteps returning and he picked up the phone again. “I’m pleased to say that she has passed” he said, not sounding at all pleased!
 
The roller coaster of my emotions had taken me to the top. I was on cloud nine. I grabbed my insurance documents and V5 and skipped back up to the test centre.
 
With hindsight maybe skipping wasn’t such a good idea. The sight of a fat bloke skipping along the street does draw some rather funny looks. Several small children and animals were terrified and the emergency services received 15 calls reporting a minor earthquake in the North Wilts area but I didn’t care. I had found my Holy Grail and it had a Ministry stamp on it!
 
I got to the garage and picked up my keys and the fresh ticket. I left them in no doubt about how happy I was. It’s OK though. The restraining order they took out only lasts six months so I should be able to take Poppy back for her next MOT test.
 
Clutching all my necessary documents I skipped across the road to the Post Office and only one pensioner showed any signs of distress as it was just a short skip. Still grinning stupidly I handed over my documents and said my most favourite words of classic ownership. “Can I have my free tax disc please?” A very short time later, I was cruising around the local B-roads in a fully road legal Poppy with 10 days to spare before the Prom and a stupid grin that the doctors are still trying to remove.

I shall now let you bask in my glory and gaze upon my Ministry of Transport certificate of roadworthiness. You may also marvel at the complete lack of advisories.

My folks moved to Birmingham from Wales in 1972. Mom always had Minis - 7 of them over the years - and this story about one of them has become legendary in our family.

While my parents Gerry and Julie were at a Christmas Eve party in 1974, Mom's Mini 850 Super Deluxe was stolen from outside Sutton Coldfield Town Hall. It was reported to the fuzz at about 11pm when they noticed it was gone. Unhappily, they took a taxi home around midnight, their evening somewhat spoiled by the Mini being taken.
​
At around 2am they were woken by a telephone call from the police to say it had been found in Birmingham city centre. The officer who called recommended collecting it as soon as possible, in case of vandalism with so many Christmas revellers about.

Another taxi took them to the street they had been directed to by the police, which was in the very heart of Birmingham City Centre - right outside Birmingham New Street railway station. As they arrived, they saw that the police had closed the street and put tape across the road.

​My folks walked up to the young officer and pointed to the stolen blue Mini, telling him they were the "Cole" family that owned the car. The officer said "We have a problem Sir - there is a loud ticking coming from the car and we suspect it may have been stolen to plant a bomb in to be detonated in the city centre over Christmas, so as to cause maximum damage".

Now this was only a month or so after the Birmingham pub bombings, so the police were naturally on edge. My Dad - never being one to keep quiet - pointed out the IRA were unlikely to steal such a small car for the job and asked if he could have a look inside the car to see whether he could see anything suspicious.

Sensibly, the officer replied that it wasn't safe and the Bomb Squad were on their way. The specialist bomb disposal team soon arrived much to the dismay of my folks, who had visions of them blowing our Mini to Kingdom Come.


Two Bomb Disposal officers very carefully approached the Mini and started examining the outside and underside with mirrors on sticks, paying very close attention to the boot area. Suddenly one of them opened the drivers door and leaned in, picked up something from inside the car then began walking towards my folks and the two policemen who were watching the scene unfold from a safe distance.

I left the last episode in my tale in a panic as only 2 weeks remained until my daughters Prom on 23rd May 2014 and I was consulting a bottle of Merlot on how best to proceed. 

The Merlot came up trumps again and advised me to stop wasting time and money tracking down yet another original washer pump/switch and fit an electric one. A quick search of the great bay of e turned up a pump, push button switch and a bracket to mount it under the dash all with the promise to be delivered on Tuesday. I also knew that I would be able to source the required wire and terminals from work. (Automotive wiring harness manufacturer remember.)
 
Sunday morning found me back at the lock-up gazing thoughtfully and fearfully at the offending steering gaiter. There was no getting around it. Despite all the tales of doom on the internet, I would have to get on and replace it with the new one waiting in the box in the boot. The gazing had also revealed the need to remove the offside engine valance to give me room to work around the gaiter. To remove the valance I would have to remove the radiator… yet again! I was getting quite expert at draining and removing the radiator by now (and quite fed up with having to do so!) so it was soon all done…again.
 
With Poppy’s front end resting on axle stands again and with room to work, I was back in action with my trusty ball joint splitters (I love this tool!) and said ball joint was split without damage to the new TRE gaiter. The TRE position on the track rod was marked with correction fluid raided from my daughter’s stationary supplies and TRE was removed. I was now able to remove the old gaiter which confirmed the internet horror stories about how difficult it was to get the new gaiter onto the housing. The previous person to fit it had cut off the narrow end of the gaiter and cable tied the 1st “bellow” onto the housing.
 
I wasn’t going to resort to these dirty cheating tactics though. Oh no. I was determined to prove I was made of sterner stuff! After about an hour of wrestling and the use of 3 rolls of paper towels to remove the grease from hands and gaiter, which was making it impossible to handle, I was no closer to success. A cup of tea was poured from my thermos and contemplation began.
 
Inspiration struck. In our factories, when we want to fit a grommet to a harness, we have a nifty tool for stretching the grommet until the hole is large enough to fit over the harness. (Funnily enough it is called a “Grommet stretcher”) Obviously I didn’t have one of these tools in the lock up but could I improvise one? A search of my puncture repair kit turned up 4 plastic bicycle tyre levers. If I could position these around the housing at one end with the other in the gaiter mouth, the mouth would be stretched as I pushed the gaiter onto the housing and tyre levers until it was in the correct position when I could simply slide out the tyre levers leaving the gaiter snugly fitted to the housing.

​After another hour of wresting, the answer was clear. Being somewhat less endowed in the arm department than an octopus, I could not improvise a grommet stretcher using 4, or even 3 plastic bicycle tyre levers. Bad words were said. The tyre levers were ejected forcefully through the lock-up door narrowly missing the local cat. Another cup of tea was poured and further contemplation embarked upon. The temptation to take the Stanley knife to the gaiter was getting ever greater but I resisted manfully.
 
I was on my 2nd cup of tea after the abortive tyre lever attempt and reaching almost Zen-like levels of concentration when inspiration struck again. No, really, it did this time. I had hatched a plan so cunning that I was in serious danger of ruining my carefully cultured reputation for being an incompetent bumbling fool.
 
What if I folded the gaiter back on itself so that the wider diameter bellows section could be offered up? I could then simply unfold the narrow part of the gaiter back over itself again and onto the housing. Well I thought about it some more but couldn’t come up with anything more cunning than this.
 
I cleaned all remaining grease from my hands and carefully turned the end of the gaiter inside out. I offered it up to the housing and, holding my breath, I carefully unfolded it onto the housing all the way round…it worked…it was in place…turning slightly blue in the lips as I was still holding my breath, I quickly grabbed the cable tie supplied by Canley’s with the gaiter and fitted it tightly around the snugly gaiter wrapped steering rack housing. I carefully let go. It didn’t all suddenly fly apart. I started breathing again as I was about to pass out. It was all still fitted. I cable-tied the other end of the gaiter to the track rod and still nothing had exploded free.
 
I carefully refitted the TRE and assembled it to the steering arm. I refitted the engine valance and radiator and topped up with the correct water anti-freeze mix…again. And STILL the new gaiter was in place. I had done it. I had succeeded when the previous chap had failed. I had succeeded when seasoned weekend warriors on the other forums had failed. I was Super mechanic …NO …I …was …an …auto …motive …GOD! … Yes, I was quite pleased with myself.

​I was home in time for a long soak in the bath with a celebratory pint of Gin and Tonic whilst Mrs FB put the finishing touches to one of her superb Sunday roasts.

​Life at Atkinson's had settled into a nice routine by and large, although I couldn't work up any enthusiasm for Saturday mornings. I couldn't then and still can't imagine now, working in a tyre shop.

I found struggling with tyre levers, repairing inner tubes that at times resembled patchwork quilts and washing and polishing cars absolutely boring. The only occasional relief was the odd water fights , tolerated to a degree by Norman, but regarded as, "Absolutely outrageous behaviour" in the view of the afore mentioned pompous prig of a manager. In light of some of the things that went on a bit of a water fight was small beer indeed.

Anyone familiar with early Land Rovers will know how long the starting handle is for them. Now imagine a standard boiler suit of the kind we wore then, buttons up the front, though I imagine a zip fastened one would be just as effective. If you catch the loose fabric at the back of the suit with the starting handle and wind it up it becomes a very effective straight jacket. If you then clamp the other end in a bench vice the victim is completely helpless.

​That was what happened to one apprentice who got a bit too lippy. Either Geoff or Brian was the mechanic who did this but I can't be sure which now. Left there for a few minutes it did wonders for your loose lip. On another occasion I was  the victim of the other apprentices when they locked me in the toilet. They were amazed when I re-appeared Houdini like within a few minutes, they hadn't realised I had a screwdriver in my rule pocket, the hinges were off within 5 minutes.

All horseplay aside I was learning fast, especially on some of the earlier models we got to work on. One that sticks in my mind was an early Land Rover that we completely overhauled. Everything that could be checked was and any repairs needed were done. I made so many trips to the store on that job that for years afterward I could recite the chassis number at the drop of a hat.

​Another was renovating the auto lube system fitted to a P3 Rover owned by the father of James Mason, the Huddersfield-born film star. For anyone who finds the auto lube reference baffling here's a pic to explain it. 

​If you imagine the number of grease nipples on the average pre war car, and then imagine a network of rigid and flexible small bore brass pipes running to each and every one of them, you get some idea of what the job entailed. Every pipe and union had to be removed, cleaned and in many cases unblocked then refitted or replaced.

When I asked Colin in the stores for replacement unions he was unable to help at all and passed me onto Arthur, the stores manager. He then called old Fred over. Fred normally did not serve in the stores but kept the stock records, none of which showed the parts I needed. "No problem" said Fred, "Come with me". He led me upstairs to the large second floor which extended over the showroom and stores. The general offices were at one end, then a large open space which was used to store a number of cars, located there by means of a lift from the showroom below.

​I'd been  amazed when I was told that this lift which had a large central ram was actually water powered. The wonders of hydraulics. Anyway, back to the job in hand. At the other end of the floor was a partioned off area That I'd never given any thought to. Turned out that this was where any parts taken off the stock lists were stored, and it seemed only Fred knew what or where said parts were located. He had me fixed up in no time, and amazed me by his recall of part numbers for them all. Prior to this, I'd always dismissed him as just a stock clerk and it taught me a valuable lesson; experience can't be bought and should be given the respect it deserves.
 
Talking of lubrication we also did two or three jobs relating to stiff steering, again on Rovers. The king pins on the Rover do not, unlike most kingpins require greasing. They are designed to be oil lubricated, and some owners seeing the plugs on the kingpin housing assumed they were blanking plugs in greasing points. Consequently they removed the plugs, fitted grease nipples and got to work with the grease gun, hence the stiff steering.
 
In September of that first year  the Rover 3 Litre was launched! What a machine! The sight of this beauty had us all drooling. We'd thought the P4 was a magnificent car but this was even bigger and better, the interior was sumptuous, leather and wood, thick carpets, seats so big and comfy looking, and a thoroughly modern looking instrument binnacle. And it had an upgraded version of the engine that started it all. It was love at first sight for me. I've been fortunate enough to own and drive a multitude of different cars since then but the P5, in all it's versions is still my number one.
 
The first few P5's we got had drum brakes all round and after a short period this was changed to discs at the front. The early cars were brought in to be converted and apart from that I don't recall any problems with them from the word go.
 
Talking of drum brakes, why on more recent cars are the self adjusting mechanisms so complicated? Prior to discs the self adjustment on the Rovers was simplicity itself and never gave problems. This consisted of two friction washers, one either side of the brake shoe. The washers were on a boss that passed through a slotted hole in the shoe and engaged with a peg on the backplate. Press the brakes and the friction washers hold the shoe in that position; release the brake and the play allowed on the peg enables the shoe to retract enough to clear the drum. Simple.

The hand brake was rather novel too with a ramp, roller and tappet arrangement built into the rear wheel cyls. Another system that worked very well and provided the right grease was used was pretty trouble free.

Christmas 1958 proved to be another giant step in my education. I was now 16 and everyone at work knew it. This did not however stop them introducing me to a completely new pastime - the pub! Whether the landlord of the Sportsman's Arms directly across from the garage either knew or cared how old I was I don't know, but he never passed any comment when we all trooped in for a few drinks before the holiday.

The chap who worked the lube bay was called Mick, not as he'd been quick to tell me from the West Indies, he was from Grenada. I'd looked it up and found that it was officially a part of the West Indies but could understand his attitude. A bit like Yorkshiremen being called English. He was the one who bought me my first ever rum. I hated it, still do. Sticking to beer I managed to walk out unaided and made my way home to a knowing smile from my father, a few sharp words from my mother, and a very early night.
 
Next time :- 1989 and the launch of THAT car.