By Mike Peake
We were all up bright and early Saturday morning, lined up ready to go. We were joined at the campsite by Rob Shalcross and his son Luke in their Tempest kit car based on a Reliant Fox. (Yes, I’d never heard of it before and had to ask too.) It is a great looking car though and for a little 850cc engine, it went like a rocket! Mind you, I’m not sure it was your regular unleaded that was being burnt. There was a definite whiff of “Speedway” about the exhaust when I was trying to follow him.
Phil was acting a bit like a worried C3P0 trying to chivvy everyone along as he was concerned we’d be late for our lunch stop, but there were photos that needed to be taken and drone footage to be shot and we all had to stop and laugh at Gus in his get up!
You can see from the drone footage of us leaving the campsite that I was laughing so much, I nearly fell off the road.
We finally left the campsite only 3 minutes after C3P0 Allin’s final deadline of 10AM. It would appear that he wasn’t quite mollified though, as he set off in Big Rov at quite a lick with us all trying to hang on to his coat tails on our 1st leg to the glamorous setting of Sainsbury’s Petrol station. It would appear that Big Rov only has 2 speeds. Broken and 100mph!
We all managed to cling on though and those brave enough to look away from the road and the passengers that didn’t have their eyes shut were able to catch glimpses of the stunning countryside as it flashed by. We all made it through and were joined by Chris Baker in his rather nice TR7 FHC.
16 classic cars filled up with fuel before we let Nick “When’s the next petrol stop” Arthur drain their bunkers for his Jensen.
The next leg was to Edensor via Chatsworth house where Phil “C3P0” Allin assured us that there was a great spot to plant a photographer so that he would be able to get good shots of the cars as they passed with the epic view of the house in the background. To this end, we all pulled over to let Phil shoot ahead with our 2 nominated intrepid photographers, Paul Cheetham and Andy Gardner who had been so unfortunate as to forget to bring their classic cars to a classic car tour.
17 classic cars pulled over on the side of the road does generate some attention from the Muggles. There were lots of smiles, wows and phone snaps taken as they drove by. There was one grumpy woman in a silver 4x4 that shouted “BLOODY OLD CARS!” out her window as she drove by, but we think we spotted a sticker in her back window saying “My other car is a Blue MGB GT” so it was probably that woman from the steam fair last year.
As you can see, the photos taken there were fantastic. However, either they didn’t get the brief or Chatsworth House was just too small for them to notice. Great shots though Guys! Well done.
Shortly after the photo shoots we had a couple of “panics”. My panic first though. We’d just driven over a cattle grid when Poppy started making an horrendous “grinding, rattling clicking” noise that was very loud and alarming. It was so alarming that I immediately pulled to the side and leapt out of the car to investigate whilst other enthusiasts swarmed to my rescue and to laugh at a Fatbloke crawling around on the floor.
To be honest, I was fully expecting to see half the car dragging on the road but after a full 5 minutes laying on the ground searching fruitlessly, Liam piped up. “You know your number plate has fallen off don’t you? I was going to tell you earlier but I was laughing too much”. Yeah Thanks Liam! I was too relieved at the simplicity of the breakdown to beat him up though and I quickly removed the remaining screw and slung the number plate in the boot. The second panic? We realised no one had stopped to pick up our intrepid photographers, so Kevin was quickly despatched in his 1998 Volvo support vehicle to rectify this.
What with C3P0 still having “Light Speed” engaged on Big Rov”, my minor mishap and the abandoned photographers, the group had become split up. Fortunately, Phil’s rally notes were superb and Mrs FB was able to navigate us along the rest of the route with ease through the picturesque village of Edensor and to the car park near Grindleford where we were to stop and admire the view. Unfortunately, as the mini convoy I was leading arrived, the mini convoy that had managed to hang onto C3P0 was just leaving. So we filtered in with them for the 5 minute drive to the Yorkshire Bridge Inn for our lunch stop.
At this point C3P0 relaxed back into the easy going chap we all know and love and we all fully enjoyed the lunch of soup and sandwiches in our own private room that our Phil had arranged.
After lunch we all walked up to the nearby Ladybower Dam to admire the engineering marvel that is the overflow plug hole. Unfortunately, the water levels were too low for it to be flowing, but it was still an impressive site. The views of the countryside from the dam were also lovely. A relaxing few minutes was spent laughing at Liam’s antics as he tried to find the best position to take a group photo.
We left the pub at a much more relaxed pace and stayed in full convoy until our next stop at the famous Derwent Dam. We were between Liam’s P6 and Tosh’s Wolseley but they’d swapped drivers. As we were pulling into the car park after a 13 mile drive, Liam started shouting and gesticulating out of the Wolseley’s window. We thought he was just doing his Father Jack impression again so ignored him, but when we finally stopped, Liam leapt out of his car and retrieved his expensive iPad from the boot of the P6 where he’d left it before we left the Pub. Of course it was my fault though, as I hadn’t spotted it while following just behind for 13 miles. I guess I was still avoiding looking at boot lids.
Derwent Dam is every bit as impressive as I was expecting having seen it so often in one of my favourite films. As we were sitting at the bottom between the towers, it was easy to imagine the roar of low flying Lancasters overhead. It was actually quite poignant to be there so close to the 75th anniversary of the famous Dambuster raid of 1943 and I spared a thought for the 56 airmen that didn’t make it back and the 1600 civilians that died as a result. Well said, Fatbloke - Ed
Sorry. Got a bit deep there. Anyway, after a cheeky ice-cream for everyone, we set off for what was to be the most challenging and fun drive of the tour so far. The long steep climb to Mam Tor. It was fantastic and the scenery was breath taking. I haven’t enjoyed driving so much for a long time and I enjoy my driving. Everyone felt the same and as we got out of the cars at the car park at the top the comments that were on everyone’s lips were “Wow! That was Fantastic!”, Boy that was fun!”, “What a run!” and “Thanks Phil, that was awesome.” As well as all humming the tune to “Days like These”
After giving the cars and drivers a bit of a breather after the ascent, it was time for the 1 in 5 descent through the Winnats Pass. The first time you see the view at the entrance to the Pass really is an “Oh wow!” moment and it just gets better as you go down. It was at this point that Anita asked me why everyone was leaving such big gaps between the cars going down the steep hill? Maybe I should have thought about my reply before blurting out, “in case of brake failure” but it made for a very quiet descent and I could concentrate on enjoying the scenery.
The next stop was Phil’s favourite view of the Peak District. The car park of the Monsal Head Inn. Well OK, it was the view FROM the car park, and I have to say I agree with him. It was a beautiful sight. Very tranquil, relaxing and peaceful… until the busy bee buzz of Gus’s drone spoiled it all! But he got some great footage and supplied the entertainment with the panic displayed when he thought he’d lost it. It was also really good to see Paul Berman and his wife who had driven out to meet us and have a chat.
The last leg was supposed to be down to Caudwell Mill and back to base camp. Unfortunately it was getting a little late so it was decided to head back to the camp site and get our glad rags on in time for the evening meal at the Druids Inn.
To Be Continued…
by Paul Sweeney.
It is our pleasure to present these video clips filmed by Garry "Gus" Brooks and John Ticehurst during the Peaks tour - its available below to view and download if you wish to keep a copy. Obviously, everyone there thoroughly enjoyed the tour - special thanks are due to Gar Cole and Phil Allin for taking on the not inconsiderable job of organising the tour - very well done, chaps!
To view the video, click the 'Play' button above. To download it to keep, click here.
by Gar Cole
Part 2 left off with myself on a high having steered the wedge through its MOT with no advisories, our group meet at Cosford loomed just a week later, having just had the suspension fluid changed and pumped back up I looked forward to the 30 mile drive.
I was awoken the morning of the show by rain splattering against my windows, cursing our bad luck at yet another wet event I none the less set off armed with umbrella and my RAC breakdown card.
To give the old girl credit she ran perfectly in driving hard rain, blower kept the windows clear and me warm, fearing I'd be the only member to show up I was pleased to see David Aikman and his Cortina GT follow me around the island as we left the M56, we were soon joined by 9 other hardy souls and their vehicles.
Good natured banter was then exchanged with folks surprised it had made it, everyone liked it's plush HLS interior but externally she was still an eyesore, as Mark Wilson so dryly put it 'now I've seen it in the flesh Gar I have to say...... It looks even worse than on the pictures ' ?
Determined to try and finish painting the car within a month I stripped out the interior the day following the Cosford show, Bressingham was looming and I had promised BL Dan Bysouth that I would bring it even if it was in pieces on a trailer, now the 4 doors, boot and bonnet are in decent condition as they are from a different car that was Zeibarted, however the original front wings and rear panels were not so fortunate and had more rusty pock marks than a teenagers face.
Armed with a cutting wire wheel I started removing the paint from the wings, filled at first with confidence as the layers of red disappeared followed by primer, excited as I waited for shiny BL steel to appear for the first time since 1981 I was quickly brought down to earth as the only thing that appeared was pitted rust.
Undeterred my amateur enthusiasm carried me on as I continued to sand the rust expecting to reach good steel when I was horrified to see the wire wheel break through the metal, this brought about an abrupt halt as I asked for advice from my friends at the local body shop, realising I was out of my depth with panels this badly corroded the job quickly turned to a 'preservation' job to keep the rust at bay for another 18 - 24 months until funds allow for a professional respray. All 4 panels were liberally coated in Vactan rust remedy before receiving 6 ' yes six' coats of hi build primer.
Working around the weather and when I had access to the paint booth, I painted the boot and 4 doors first along with the interior bare metal, I was happy with the results as the last week before Bressingham approached, however............
The 4 original panels were last to be painted, I had flattened down the primer with wet and dry and they looked fine, I couldn't see any defects in the dull yellow primer at all, loaded the spray gun up and as the first sweep of black came across the wing it revealed a 'moon scape' of pits, grinding grooves and dents I had missed, it was like witchcraft as every pass of the paint gun revealed more and more defects in the panels, frustrated and out of time I abandoned painting on the Thursday in order to refit the interior and pack the car Friday morning for the 140 mile drive to Bressingham in deepest , darkest Norfolk.
The nice drive to the countryside turned into a 5 hour ordeal with 10 mile tailbacks on the A14, however Princess Okk1 didn't miss a beat until the last 20 miles when I lost hydraulic pressure in the clutch, feeling more like a banana than a clutch pedal I nursed the gearbox with double de-clutching through pitch black, windy and wet Norfolk roads until the campsite loomed into view, yesssss we made it, thank you old girl.
The following morning I was assisted by Mike Peake, Phil Allin and Keith Lloyd who had my clutch bled and working within 5 min before we set off for Bressingham steam museum, I loved being part of a classic convoy ' it was my first ' and we certainly turned a few heads.
After a very enjoyable weekend camping the wedge was loaded up for the trip home to Sutton Coldfield, a trouble free 50 miles at a steady and smooth 60mph came to a spluttering halt at Kettering services, now it was at this point that the difference between breaking down in a classic compared to a modern car became clear, within 30 seconds group member John Hone pulled up behind me in his modern car, bewildered at his sudden appearance he sheepishly admitted he was lost and had spotted me on the A14 and had decided to follow me home, his crafty plan foiled by my breakdown, he very generously offered to wait until the RAC arrived but I let him go armed with directions back to the M1.
While awaiting rescue I updated my situation on the group to pass the time, within 10 minutes another modern car arrived carrying group member Mark Finney, they had been to a beer festival but diverted to check on me when they realised they were close by, our group is awesome and so is its members, the RAC man had the car running again after 5 minutes, a blocked fuel filter and pipes the culprit, it seems filling the tank to the brim for the first time in years dislodged a lot of rusty crud, she then drove home the remaining 70 miles without incident and redeeming herself with many friendly waves and smiles from fellow motorists.
Now I've owned the car for 12 months and had a few trips in her I'm certain of a few things, I'm smitten with the car and she's a keeper, the 300 mile Norfolk trip has shown up where more work and parts will be needed over the winter if I want a trouble free season next year, buying a near parts car isn't for everyone and it's tested me to my limits, however that is sometimes the only way to get a foothold into classic ownership and it is very satisfying saving a car from the scrap yard.
Next week we will return to the paint booth to rectify some of the original mistakes i made and dents i missed, and it will soon go to the specialists in Telford to have all 4 hydro units re gassed with Nitrogen to restore it's original ride quality, ongoing project that I'm really enjoying, updates to come in 2017 ?
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or Carry on Crich 2016 or Several fat blokes frolicking in a field
by Mike Peake
Sunday morning broke bright and cold. I was somewhat later rising than other campers in the field as is a gentlemen’s right. This was because I had slept poorly due to the extreme cold of the night.
Hypothermia had not taken me, though it was a close run thing. Nor was my lack of hypothermia due to the antifreeze effect of the alcohol in my blood as someone rather rudely suggested. I remind you that I was dinking stream water with the rest of you.
After more wakeup sandwiches from Gar’s fatted pig, the group set off in convoy for the museum again, to be confronted by the biggest queue of classic cars ever to be seen.
It was then that the 3rd miracle of the weekend occurred. A bolt of gold lightning shot forth from the clear blue sky and struck Tosh Brooks. It had a miraculous effect on him. Suddenly feeling important and in the knowledge that everyone believed him to be a Tramway official he strode purposefully about and herded our group past the peasantry and members of lesser car clubs, straight into pride of place round the bandstand like the VIPs we should be.
I have to admit that I was fearful of serious injury caused by all the “Paddington Hard Stares” being directed at us but our Lord of Old Cars and his Prophet Tosh protected us.
Gar and I were looking forward to this day as we’d be able to enjoy the show and museum without any of the responsibilities of our own show. Paul on the other hand would still have to work very hard in his role as a volunteer and was already running around like a mad man looking harassed.
He did another great job though and another great day ensued. Obviously, it wasn’t quite as good as our own show but they did their best and it wasn’t too shabby.
We could see however, that the liberal words of our heretic from the night before had taken seed with some of the following. There was evidence of Johnnie Foreigners and Post 85 cars. It was clear that the breakaway movement was gaining ground. Don’t worry though, as we still have our puritan sanctuary on Facebook.
I spent the day in good company mooching around cars, talking about cars, riding trams whilst looking at and talking about cars. Also, as was our Lords will, revealed to us on that cold hill in Derbyshire, we came up with a shortened version of our name. I declare it to be “EMB…no…that’s not right…EBM…er…what’s next…oh yes V then it’s err B… yes B followed by umm… another B and 1985. Yes that’s it! I declare, according to our Lords will, our shortened name shall be EMBVBMBV1985” Amen.
Before I knew it, it was time for me to depart. So I headed back to the campsite where miracle 4 occurred and I got everything packed back into Poppy. My sadness at leaving was outweighed by the prospect of a 3.5 hour roof down blast in my favourite car and old friend. Poppy handled this trip with aplomb and vigour.
The final miraculous happening occurred 4 hours later. Mrs FB appeared marginally pleased to see me when I arrived home.
In all seriousness though, the Crich weekend rates as THE best car club event I have ever experienced. Great cars, great venue, great weather, but most importantly, great people. You really are all jolly decent and nice and it was a pleasure to meet you.
Obviously, special thanks must go to Paul Cheetham for his vision, enthusiasm and energy and turning out not to be a young hooligan at all. If you were unfortunate enough to miss it, I’m sorry but you missed something really special. Don’t worry though, it was such a success that we are hoping to make it an annual event.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “They couldn’t possibly have eaten all that cake!” Well, yes we did. As evidence, please see the subtitle above.
I also know that you are wondering how much truth there is in the above tale. Well, I set out to produce a gospel of truth but then I remembered an old adage from my Rugby days that “What goes on tour, stays on tour.”
So, were we bathed in heavenly light from above? Or was it just Kevin turning on Sheila’s Wheels? Was the Holy Popup Tent of Crich truly holy? Or was it just bought from a motorway services? Was Mrs FB marginally pleased to see me when I arrived home? Well no. Clearly I made that bit up, but she did have a birthday tea and presents ready for me.
There is good news though. There is a way you can verify what is truth and which bits I might have applied a bit of authors licence to. COME TO THE NEXT MEET AND SEE IT FOR YOURSELVES! You might even have a bit of fun.
Full details of the next group meet are available here (click) - Ed
or "Carry on Crich 2016" or "Several fat blokes frolicking in a field"
by Mike Peake
The day was finally here. Poppy was ready for another epic adventure and so was I. Cakes had been baked, camping equipment checked, weather forecast checked, (Oh dear, put more sleeping bags and blankets in.) Music loaded onto smart phone, torch app loaded onto smart phone and satnav loaded onto smart phone with adequate space on smart phone for all the photos I’m going to take.
Wonderful bits of kit aren’t they? Well, no they’re not actually. My daughters cast off smart phone that I’ve been using for a year or so, suddenly decided that it would choose this moment to fall off its perch and go to meet its maker. Not to be deterred I went in search of individual pieces of tech to fill these roles. So, a torch, a cd player, a satnav, a camera and an actual phone for making phone calls was added to the already Himalayan size mountain of gear that I was going to have to fit into Poppy along with a Fatbloke.
So, the life-size game of Tetris began. Everything was squashed, squeezed, shoehorned, levered and pressed into my little car, filling the boot and the entire back seat, but leaving time to spare for a spot of lunch a shower and a shave and change into my jacket and trousers. A gentleman must look his best at all times after all.
Looking rather cool in my jacket and shades I pulled off my drive and headed oop north, a long way oop north. I’d planned a non-motorway route and had a lovely time driving the green lanes up through Stow, Morton-in-the-Marsh, Halford and so on, until my 1st rendezvous point at Bassett’s Pole. Here I met with Gar Cole and the smallest actual caravan I’ve ever seen. A few minutes were taken to shake hands, have a quick chat and stretch legs, before we set off on the next short leg to meet up with the legend and organiser of the event that is Paul Cheetham.
As gentlemen do, Gar and I had chosen to meet at (for the purposes of this blog) an elegant country hostelry with consideration for Gar parking his caravan. Paul, on the other hand, had chosen a McDonalds car park. I shall leave you to draw your own conclusions as to what character traits this may reveal, but I was beginning to wonder whether he might be one of those young hooligans one hears so much about these days.
Paul arrived in his lovely blue mini and we set off again for the final leg through the rugged and rather hilly Derbyshire countryside to our final destination. Yes, a field on top of a large hill. We pulled onto the field to a chorus of “Oh Look!” from the Brooks family who were already impressively ensconced in their “circled wagon” fortified camp.
After hasty introductions and more handshaking, Gar and I set off to pitch camp. Well, all Gar had to do was unhitch and put the legs down. He carefully unhitched and drove the car forward. It was at this point that the very loud bang alerted Gar and the whole camp site that he had forgotten to unfasten the breakaway cable. You’ll all be pleased to know though, that it performed it’s task faultlessly as the caravans brakes were deployed shortly before the cable snapped as it should.
Gar continued with his setting up whilst looking rather sheepish and the rest of us continued our own tasks with the added feeling of smugness that goes along with the wonderful feeling that we aren’t alone in our moments of bumbling incompetence.
My home from home took a little longer to set up partly because I had to spend time stroking Poppy’s fins and thanking her for getting me all the way there without any dramas, but mainly because putting up a 30 year old ridge tent that hasn’t been touched for 10 years, isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Eventually though, all was complete.
I would like to take this opportunity to point out that my pitch for this superb gentleman’s abode, was chosen with great care and wisdom, taking into account such things as prevailing wind, flatness of pitch, position on the hill to avoid bogginess, lack of ants nests etc. It was NOT the naughty corner as some of you so rudely called it!
With us all set up it was time for lengthier introductions. We all gathered in the centre of the Brooks family’s circled wagon train with the Thompsons . The evening progressed and our offerings of meat were expertly BBQ’d by Gus Brooks while the rest of us made motivational speeches, sang inspirational songs round the campfire and held lengthy intellectual, philosophical, discussions whist drinking pure water from the crystalline mountain spring running by the camp.
It was some time after sunset when we were joined by Liam White and his family. Guided onto the field by torchlight they parked up. Liam opened the door of his lovely Granada and fell to his knees clutching his chest and wailing “Oh pity us fellow travellers. We have journeyed far and into the night and it is now too dark to erect our 8 man tent that we’ve never put up before and don’t have any instructions! Won’t someone have a heart and help us in our plight?”
With that, a wondrous light shone forth from the heavens and whilst we gazed on in awe, a majestic voice rang out across the hill. “Fear not, Enthusiasts of British Motor Vehicles Built Before 1985! For I am the god of all things automotive. You have worshipped me with dedication in garages and on driveways, on verges and at the side of the road. Did you really think I would leave you exposed and freezing on this, most special of all nights, Crichmass Eve?..….Behold!...” and in a flash of green, a cosy little shelter miraculously appeared complete with its own water supply. With that, the heavenly light abruptly switched off…Then it switched back on and the voice rang out again “By the way, what idiot came up with such a ridiculously long name? Can’t you shorten it or something?” and the light went out again.
We all retired to bed with hearts filled with wonder and faces aglow with joy.
Next time - the day of the Show
or "Carry on Crich 2016" or "Several fat blokes frolicking in a field"
by Mike Peake
Saturday morning, we all awoke bright and early and wondered just what was in that spring water we were drinking last night?
Gar had bought half a fatted pigs worth bacon so wakeup sandwiches were available to all on the lovely sunny morning (yes, SUNNY!), before setting off for the Museum.
Gar and I set up our HQ by the entrance and band stand with our boxes of cake at one end and admin paraphernalia taking up most of the 6ft table. Then, after a brief pause, all the lovely cars and people started arriving. Paul Cheetham was showing off his youthful vigour by running up and down the village to arrange all the cars perfectly and proving that he’s a jolly nice chap.
Gar and I used our experience and stood at the main gate and told people where to park, before directing them back to our cakey HQ where more and more cake was appearing.
The table arrangement had completely turned around now, with cake taking over and admin stuff squashed into a corner. Cake was coming in faster than people were eating it causing Gar to have a bit of a panic. He went running round the site waving his hands in the air and screaming “there’s too much cake!” like a little girl until the Brooks brothers held him down while I beat him with a daffodil and got him chanting “There can never be too much cake, there can never be too much cake”.
The day continued bright and sunny and lots of cars, cake and even muggles were present. The venue was superb and provided a perfect backdrop for the cars as you can see from the many photos gracing our facebook page at the moment. All the Crich Tramway staff were friendly and helpful, making the day even more special.
There was such a range of cars at the show too. From the gleaming Apollo P5 Camper and Daimler 420 owned by Tosh and Gus Brooks to the wonderfully eccentric “Sheila’s Wheels”, a candy pink confection of madness that is a Reliant Rialto, owned by Kevin and Sheila Thompson, to my own slightly scruffy Herald “Poppy”. I must say I particularly liked the Thompson’s Rialto as it was as mad as a box of frogs and made everyone smile.
The other car highlights of the show for me were the Stewart Family’s pair of 1930s Austin 7s, Tony Miller’s stunningly restored Morris Marina as well as Benjamin Gretton’s Granada Ghia Coupe that was voted everyone’s favourite car of the show.
In all, there were over 60 Cars owned by our members at the show. All of them with a story to tell and entertainment to provide, and such an eclectic mix of cars too. I think that it is this mix of people and cars and our inclusiveness that makes this group such a great place to socialise both online and in the real world. Oh… and cake…Cake makes it a great group too.
A fantastic day came to its conclusion with Gar’s light hearted awards ceremony with prizes given as follows.
Best International Contributor - Robert Bothwell
Best European Contributor - Edwin Feenstra
Member's Choice Favourite in Show - Benjamin Gretton
Most Enthusiastic Member - Tony Tosh Brooks
Furthest Travelled - John Ticehurst
Oldest Car - Carolyn Stewart
Event Organiser - Paul Cheetham
Dedication - Zebidee Habib
Best Cake - Mike Peake
I must say that the last one came as a great surprise and a great honour. I am now the only bloke I know to go to a car show and come away with an award for best cake. It’s left Mrs FB wondering if I went to a WI meet instead by mistake. I’m also feeling the pressure to reproduce the Lemon Drizzle cake in quantity and to the same standard for Gaydon.
Our members left for home with smiles on their faces and positive comments on the day from all. Oh and Gar needn’t have worried about cake as there was none left at the end of the day. With just us hardy campers left, the Museum felt eerily empty so we all left for our friendly field to prepare for Crich’s own car show in the morning.
Back at the fatblokes field, we all took a few moments to compose ourselves and dress for dinner before gathering at The Brooks circled wagons again where we were joined by the friends made the previous night plus a few more happy campers that were staying over between shows. More meat was BBQ’d, more stream water drunk and just as we were thinking that some cake would go down nicely and bemoaning the fact that it had all been eaten, a 2nd miracle occurred. Doughnuts, a fruit cake, a carrot cake and marshmallows were suddenly discovered in the cake boxes!
This new miracle sparked talk of the previous night’s happenings. Liam White declared that the ”Holy Popup tent of Crich” was a highly significant relic and should be protected. He decided there and then that he would build a shelter around it as it had sheltered his family in their time of need. “It will be a very large shelter where Pilgrims can visit and worship in the 12 large bays each fitted with 4 post lifts and snap on tool chest and tools and surrounded by iconic British cars built before 1985” he loudly proclaimed for all to hear.
One of the new arrivals took issue with this though. “Surely” he said, “Our benevolent Lord of Old Cars would want us to be more inclusive and welcome cars of all nations into his loving fold. We could shorten our name to ‘Enthusiasts of Pre Millennial Motor Vehicles’ just like our Lord requested too!” Well obviously this was rank heresy, so he was executed on the spot in our time honoured fashion of being beaten to death with a plastic daffodil.
In the knowledge that we had done our duty unto the Lord we retired to bed.
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