​There was no one there. No toilet blocks, no catering vans, no other classic cars, no one. Well I am a bit early I thought so I waited. At ten past 5, 2 mini buses arrived and about 30 Indian people got out and immediately congregated around Poppy exclaiming excitedly in Punjabi. It was a while before anyone approached me to ask if I was there for the filming and to tell me that everyone loved the car and she was exactly what they were after. Then they all left to congregate at the back of 2 Luton vans that had just arrived.
 
Gradually, at about 5.15am, other classics rolled into the Square. I was joined by a split screen VW camper, a Rolls Royce, Dale Scutter in his Hillman Minx, Craig in Josh’s very tatty Allegro 3 and 2 London taxis; one was a Metro Cab and the other was a 2001 TX1.

​Then, nothing happened at all until 7am when all the classics except Poppy and the camper were told to drive in convoy around Piccadilly Circus several times, which they did. The Rolls led, with one of the production coordinators riding shotgun to direct operations. Apparently on the 3rd lap he received a phone call, had a nervous breakdown and turned into a gibbering jelly, causing the Roller driver to lead the convoy into a one way bus lane and nearly crashing into an oncoming bus. Having narrowly avoided disaster, the Rolls led the convoy back to the Square and the production assistant was never seen again. Maybe this should have clued us in on how the rest of the day would go.
 
9am and still no sign of a catering bus or any toilets, so we drivers took matters into ourr own hands and went to a Café Nero up the road. A disorderly queue was formed  for the single toilet and very much needed strong coffee was ordered.
 
Still no catering van, but breakfast of sorts arrived at about 10.30am.

​At 2.30 pm we were all told to head off in convoy and drive around Trafalgar Square several times. It was pointed out that you can no longer drive all the way around Trafalgar Square and the necessary detour would take several minutes.

​This didn’t seem to worry the production crew overly and we were told to get on with it so we did. We managed to stay in convoy for the 1st lap but by the time we’d been up around Aldwych and back we had moderns between us and even more by the 3rd and 4th lap so we gave up and went back to St James Square. Of course, as is the way with London, all our parking spaces in the square had been taken and we were forced to double park and keep an eagle eye for wardens.

​None of us had seen any cameras filming us on our drive and I began to suspect that it had all been a ploy to silence the more vocal among the frustrated drivers.

​It was however, great fun driving a classic through central London. The tourists are less reserved than the normal British public and shouted, waved and took plenty of photos. One lady told me Poppy was her “Dream car” whilst she took photos at a pedestrian crossing. Even “proper Londoners” seemed impressed with several cabbies winding down their windows and calling out “Lovely motaa Guvna” and giving me a big thumbs up. I even had a chauffeur in a luxury Mercedes pull up alongside me and telling me his sister had one back in the day, before saying that they look much smaller now especially with me driving. It took me a while to figure out, but I think he was calling me fat!
 
Anyway, the day continued pretty much as before with zero communication from the production team. Lunch turned up at about 3.30pm and looked just as appetising as breakfast.

​It got better though. The couple in the back were told to be “as passionate as you can be whilst keeping your clothes on” and the young lady next to me was told to be the same with my left hand side while I kept my eyes resolutely on the road. The poor young lady did extremely well in quickly masking the look of horror that passed across her face but I was less successful at hiding my soppy grin. Anyway for some reason, it took 47 takes before we got it right and the Director was getting quite cross with me. I really can’t think why I went wrong so often. The actors loved the attention Poppy and therefore they were getting from the public on the drives to the location.
 
And that was it. I was handed a wodge of folding money which was nice, as after my acting debut, I would quite happily have done it for free. I was slightly disappointed that I wasn’t going to be in one of those famous big Bollywood dance numbers, but I suppose that would be asking too much of Lady Luck!
 
Goodbyes were said and I set off home in the London rush hour. Even that was quite pleasant though as traffic was a lot lighter than usual because of COVID I guess, and loads of Londoners wanted to chat about Poppy while we were stuck in the queues. I’ve not driven a classic in London before and it was much nicer than I was expecting.
 
2 hours of faultless and quite rapid driving (for a 50 year old car) later I pulled up at home and I made a full  confession to Mrs FB. She was cross. Very cross, but not because I was canoodling with a young lady .No,  Apparently, my behaviour was less than COVID-aware and I should be more careful.
 
Anyway, for whatever reason, I am now quarantined in the caravan on the drive. I’m hoping that it is only for the 2 weeks suggested by the Government but I’ll let you know. Oh, and last night, I was told they wanted Poppy back. Not sure when though. I agreed instantly.
 
The when was Sunday, at the much more sensible time of 3pm and it was at Heathrow instead of central London. Poppy continued to be a proper show off and it seemed as if all the crew and actors wanted their photo taken with her. I think it was Poppy’s version of giving autographs.

​The reason Poppy was needed again was that the scene taken in central London last time, was far too “steamy” for Punjabi cinema and needed reshooting.
 
Natalie (Yes, I know her name now) and I were told to carry on as pretty much as before, but the 2 in the back were told to tone it down a touch. As it was the scene taken out of the camper, looking down into Poppy’s open cockpit, we only had to pull up alongside the camper and act. If you can call maintain a silly grin whilst being canoodled by a young lady acting, then I acted my socks off. We had it all in the can (I know! get me with the lingo!) in just 32 takes this time despite my best efforts.
 
A perfectly behaved Poppy then took me back home… to my quarantine caravan.
 
Stay safe everyone. I’ll be back when I’ve got something to write about.
 
Some creative licence may have been employed in the telling of this tale.

By Mike Peake

​Hello chaps. Well that’s another 6 months gone by without a blog. That makes only two blogs in the last 12 months. I’m going to assume that you’ve missed me as it’s far better for my ego that way, and apologise for my laziness, but with no shows or tours this year, it has been a real struggle to find enough material to fill a whole blog. However, I’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel, (what do you mean “What’s new”?) and hope I’ve got enough to keep you amused for a few minutes.
 
Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin.
 
One of the 1st things I did to Poppy when I bought her was to have the 1968 Motorola radio that she’d been fitted with reconditioned, converted to FM and fitted with an auxiliary lead so I could play a Walkman through the radio. The radio was fine, however the auxiliary lead had never worked well. It was just a 1.5 meter lead coming out the back of the radio with a jack plug on which got in the way as it just trailed on the floor. I sort of fixed it by drilling a small hole in the back of the glove box and feeding the lead into the box, but in fixing one problem, I created another. It was very difficult now to change the music whilst driving but was good enough. All this was 20 years ago. Technology has moved on. Now, I have an iPhone. I have maps on my iPhone. I have a handy speedometer app on my iPhone and I have most of my music collection on my iPhone. Best of all, it all works at the same time. The problem was, I couldn’t plug it into the radio for my tunes or it would be in the glove box and I couldn’t see my satnav, or I could see my satnav but had no tunes.
 
I decided it needed fixing. I managed to find some 3.5mm sockets online and purchased the minimum order quantity of 5. Which at the time was rather annoying.
 
So, I cut off the jack plug on the auxiliary lead and pulled it out of the glove box. Then, rather cunningly, I plugged the plug into my new sockets and using the continuity tester on my multimeter, I was able to establish what colour wire went to which pin on the back of the socket.  Then, using my grandfather’s (No, not the bus driver) soldering iron which is older than me, I made my 1st attempt. It didn’t go well. Let’s just say that I was glad that the MOQ of 3.5mm jack sockets is more than one.
 
As you can see, the 2nd …ish attempt was far more successful.

​Now, before anyone takes the Mickey, I would like to remind you all that you won’t be able to see the joints unless you find yourself upside down in the passenger seat with your head in the floor well. If you do happen to find yourself in this position then I assure you that you will have other things on your mind than thinking “Oh, look at those ugly joints.”
 
Further, when I plugged it all in and turned it on, it all worked beautifully. That, in my book, is all the elements of a perfectly executed soldered joint.
 
Next up, was mounting the socket in the car. Along with my 1968 Motorola radio, Poppy came with it fitted in the original dealer fit console and speaker box. Apparently, these are rarer than rocking horse doodoos now so I thought long and hard about drilling a hole in it. Then I drilled a hole in it.
 
My thinking was that A. it was the best place for it. B. the socket was small and metallic so will be hardly noticeable. And C. it’s my car, my console so yaa boo sucks to anyone who says different.

​I think it all looks rather neat and it works a treat. Unfortunately, I can’t show a picture of my phone all mounted up and connected because my camera is on my phone, which was all mounted up and connected. I’m ashamed to say that it took me several minutes of searching for my phone to take a picture before I realised this.
 
I’m really pleased with the job, as I can now be told where to go whilst listening to Deep Purple. Just like being at home with Mrs FB really.
 
Next up on my list jobs to do was give Poppy a service and while I was at it, I’d change the oil pressure sensor which stopped working after my old jump-leads melted when attached to the starter in close proximity. I’d also replace the coolant drain tap on the engine block which had seized up. The service and the oil pressure sensor change all went really well. The drain tap on the other hand…
 
1st up, a socket wouldn’t fit on because of the tap bit being in the way so I spent a considerable time looking for the rather odd sized 13/16” spanner which I eventually found in the bottom of a very large box of odd sized imperial spanners that Muggle friends, neighbours and family keep giving me when they clear out their garages.
 
My problems didn’t end there. The only way to get the spanner on the tap was to squeeze my prop forward arms between the down pipe and the block, spend 3 minutes trying to fit the spanner onto the tap only to be able to turn ¼ of a turn before having to repeat the process endlessly. Then do it all again to fit the new tap… which leaked. So I tightened it up some more. It still wept from the tread so I tightened it up some more. This continued until all of a sudden, it started turning really easily. I said bad words. Very bad words. So I went through it all again to put the old one back on.

​I then spent a while staring at the stripped thread whilst fuming at the “cheap tat” that they get away with selling now. I stopped when I realised I sounded just like my Dad. So I took a picture of the stripped thread and posted it on Facebook asking everyone to fume at the “cheap tat” they get away with selling now. I’m going to replace it with a simple plug if anyone can point me in the right direction.
 
Now, as you may remember, I spent last summer re-spraying the rest of Poppy red and was telling everyone who asked why I hadn’t done the white stripe that I was waiting to make sure that the red was fully cured before sticking masking tape on it. I can now reveal that the real reason was that I’d lost the will to live and was thoroughly fed up with painting. A full 12 months later, I still felt the same. Fortunately, I have a very good friend in Saint Tosh “Ow Mooch” Brooks who took pity on me and volunteered to do my stripe for me. All I had to do was drive it up to his toy box on a farm near Doncaster. Which I did when COVID restrictions had lifted enough to allow this sort of thing.
 
As I was pulling up by the farm gate near a church, a lovely young lady came running over asking if she could borrow my “lovely little car” as they were doing a wedding photo shoot for a magazine. Well Poppy was immediately up for this and very flattered to be asked. I was unceremoniously kicked out while Poppy positioned herself in the most photogenic setting she could find.

​Photos by Hannah Sheerman Photography and I’m sure you’ll all agree, she did a fine job.
 
After this slight delay, it was down to Tosh’s Toy box where he worked his magic in fine style.
 
In the time it would have taken me to find a paint brush, Tosh had Poppy flatted back, masked up and sprayed. It was amazing to watch a master at work. Seriously, he had the job done in 2 hours flat. It would have taken me a week. I was really rather pleased. So a huge thanks is offered to Tosh. 

​What’s really great is that Poppy’s stripe is the same shade of white as Apollo, Tosh and Gus’s Rover P5B camper and a favourite amongst the group. It’s good to know that a bit of Apollo will stay with the group after that heartless old b…er…Yorkshire man sold her out from underneath us.

​A few more months went by with me, Poppy and the family off round the green lanes whenever possible to blow the cobwebs away and although we’ve lived in this town all our adult lives, I’m still discovering new roads

​Thanks for reading chaps and if it’s not too much for you, I shall be back shortly with tales of fame and Bollywood.
 
See you soon.

​Hello Chaps! Wow, it’s been a while hasn’t it? You thought lockdown couldn’t get any worse didn’t you? But now I’m inflicting a blog on you so I’m really sorry.
 
It’s been over 6 months since our last little chat and quite a lot has happened. Classic car event after event has been cancelled. Poor Nelson, Gars Minor Triumph, met his Trafalgar in a ball of flame prompting us all to buy the fire extinguishers we’d been meaning to get for years but never quite got around to it (or was that just me?)
 
I can’t imagine how upset Gar must have been losing his pride and joy like that and we all commiserated fully with him. Of course Saint Brian of Enthusiastshire had to show off in his level of sympathy by giving Gar a spare Triumph 2000 he had lying around. Naturally, this level of generosity means that he is officially exiled from his home county of Yorkshire for bringing its name into disrepute - but what a lovely thing to do. He’s a very, very nice man. The story even made it into Classic Car Weekly.
 
Of course Gar is cock-a-hoop and has spent lockdown fettling and polishing to his heart’s content  and winding Brian up with tales of how he is going to deface Errol’s natural beauty with all sorts of hooligan mods. Brian isn’t fooled by this for a minute though. We all know how much Gar has fallen in love with Errol because he’s even dropped his plans to two-tone the car with a different colour roof and he can’t find a rear window louvre kit for the big saloon.

​The Brooks aren’t letting Lockdown  affect them in the slightest and have been churning out stunners like you wouldn’t believe. They’ve even developed a bit of a fibreglass fetish.

​Of course all are for sale at very reasonable rates if you would like to step into Tosh’s office. Although, there has been rumours that Tosh is actually planning on keeping one of them but no one really believes that.
 
His next project has also been announced and we’re all really looking forward to seeing the results.

​Our very own Ninja assassin Liam is really taking current events seriously; he has locked himself away in his Secret Squirrel Survival Bunker and is living like a king on stockpiled MRE’s and Lucozade whilst monitoring his CCTV ready to set off the claymore mines if anyone approaches.

​Nick Arthur is being banished to a caravan in Jo’s garden so he can be closer to his cars. Graham and Sue are panicking about their planned wedding in September and Andy ‘Two Pants’ Perman has discovered the Joys of writing blogs about his VDPs. In fact, go and read them now as they’re far better than this drivel.

​Me? What have I done?  You're still here then? Well I grew a beard. Impressive eh?

 
Everyone said I looked like Tosh Brooks though so I immediately shaved it off again.
 
I have been fortunate enough to be working from home full time during the crisis. The new commute has tuned out to be a bit of a problem though as the stairs quickly become gridlocked during rush hour.
 
Poppy? Well she was fine but very, very bored and lonely in her lock up far from home. (Well, not that far really but it sounded better in a literary sense.)
 
Winter was really horrible with not a single day with good enough weather to take her for a spin. Then, just as the weather turned glorious, we were put into lockdown and I couldn’t go and get her. Of course if I’d known at the time that we were allowed out to drive as part of an eye test I’d have been out like a shot.
 
However, lockdown restrictions were eased a bit in early May so I went to get her. She fired up on the 1st turn of the key. I washed off the New Forest dirt, gave her a wax and Emily and I took a grin-laden drive around the green lanes of Wiltshire to get some milk. I did notice that my headlights were no longer working when I pulled her out of the lockup but as it was a bright summers day, I didn’t let this bother me. I then parked her on my drive so I would be able to sort out a few niggles.

​Niggles? Surely not? I hear you say! Well yes. 3 to be precise. Well 3 I planned to look at anyway.
 
My heater hasn’t worked since I’ve had the car. I know that this may seem a bit slovenly to some but it’s only been 19 years and what’s the point of a heater in a car with no roof? Well if I want to go on winter tours with the chaps and want my wife to come with me, it turns out that a working heater IS quite important.
 
Since I’ve rebuilt my Carb I’ve been having trouble getting the tune right and suffering from a very fast tickover. I think I have now narrowed this down to a sticking throttle cable so this needed changing and while I was at it I’d change all the return springs to fix the floppy peddle.
 
Finally, I had to find out where all the electrickery for my headlights had gone. So I ordered all the parts I thought I would need.
 
The following weekend, with a box of shiny new parts to hand I set to work. I thought I’d do the easy job 1st which I deemed to be throttle cable. I removed the cable from the carburettor and immediately, my fast running issue was solved so that’s good. What wasn’t so good was when I went to remove the pedal. Turns out that the bracket was rusted quite badly. I couldn’t even see the old spring or split pin.

​It would have to come out. It’s only two bolts though so will be easy. 3 hours, 1 broken ratchet, a broken hacksaw blade and a shattered grinding wheel later, the pedal bracket was off. The cable and pedal were also now separated and a new shopping list started.

​As I could proceed no further with my pedal assembly, I turned my attention to the heater. I suspected that the valve was at fault as it was very stiff to operate and I had a shiny new one in my box of shiny new parts. So, the cable and pipes were removed from the old valve and the valve removed from the heater matrix. I then attached my hose pipe to the matrix and flushed it through until clear clean water was flowing out before fitting the shiny new valve, new rubber pipes and shiny new jubilee clips. Just the operating cable to attach now and job done. Well, it would have been if I hadn’t broken the pinch bolt doing it up too tightly.
 
It took a while but amongst all my “parts that will come in useful one day” supply, I found a new one that will do at a pinch (Haha! Get it? A pinch bolt that will do at a pinch! Hahahaha….ahem… sorry). The only trouble was that it was still attached to the brake cable on my daughters bicycle. She won’t miss it. The important thing was that it is now all back together. The heater still doesn’t work and the pipes to it aren’t getting even warm so I suspect an air lock. Anyone know how to cure this?

​Having not yet fixed anything despite hours and hours of work, I thought I’d see if I could relocate my headlamp electrickery. First, I spent an hour looking for the inline fuse that someone said was behind the dash on the passenger side. It wasn’t there. Someone had decided to move it into the engine bay. It wasn’t the inline fuse though. It was fine.

​So I followed the power wire from the fuse through the car dismantling stuff as I went to ease access and checking various connections with my trusty multimeter as I went. I found electrickery everywhere it should be and no holes in anything where it could leak out. I was now suspecting the master switch. Now this is only £20 for a new one (It really is!) so I wasn’t worried. I was worried however if the fire brigade would be able to get me back out from under the dash where I’d need to go to get to said switch.

​When able, I checked the inlet side of the switch and there was electrickery. So I checked the outlet side and found none! Aha!! Then I turned it on and the power flowed. It wasn’t the master switch. I continued to follow the electrickery towards the column switch. I was a little nervous now because the column switch comes in 4 parts and each part is £20. To my vast relief though, I found the problem. There was a blockage preventing the electrickery going through the connector where the rear lights branch out.

​Flushed with the success of my detective skills I went and added more parts to my shopping list. I managed to extricate myself from under the dash without the aid of the fire brigade so it may have been that I was flushed with.
 
Now, you know that picture from the interweb of the wrecked house that someone had painted “Got the Spider “ on?

​I know, made me chuckle for ages. Well I’m not chuckling now!

​I’d spent most of the day working on my car and hadn’t actually finished fixing anything other than a new shopping list of required parts.
 
I did manage to successfully fit the new number plates the girls bought me. After all 23rd of May was Poppy’s 50th birthday, so I had to do something nice for her.

​I shut and locked the car door, tidied up, poured myself a glass of squash, fired up the computer and ordered more parts.
 
The next Friday afternoon with another box of shiny new parts, I set to with real conviction that today would be a productive day on the car!
 
With a lot of help from Emily I soon had the accelerator pedal assembly properly assembled and was finally able to get the carb properly tuned and had Poppy purring like a dream in no time.

​Next I cleared the blockage in the wiring and had electrickery flowing where it should and fully functioning lights.

​As you can see above, I’d made a bit of a mess of the original 50 year old under dash millboard when diagnosing the failure to light, but it was already in very poor condition so it gave me the excuse to buy the new one I’d been promising Poppy for a while. It was an absolute swine to fit and Emily learned lots and lots of new words but we got here in the end. 

​You can’t actually see it unless you are laying in the floor well, but if you do happen to find yourself laying in the floor well it now all looks rather lovely now.
 
Then I had to reassemble the radio and speaker, reconnect and refit the 12v supply/cigarette lighter and the electric washer pump switch. Along with the steering column and steering wheel. Of course, when I drove the car, the steering wheel was 90 degrees out but this was soon corrected. It is also a record for me as I removed the steering wheel twice in a week and didn’t break my nose.
 
I’m now very pleased with my interior.

​We were on a roll so I went ahead and fitted the new horn that has been in my garage for a year. The steering column on the Herald is adjustable and the last time I had it apart, I think I set it too far forward as every time I went round a corner or over a bump the horn used to sound of its own volition which led to acute embarrassment and the odd fight. It kept touching the steering wheel boss and therefore earthing the horn. This time, I made sure I set the column further back.
 
Then, with Emily’s help, I changed the old horn which had gone from sounding when it felt like it to not sounding at all. Who’d have thought, the ability to do an arabesque would come in handy when working on a classic car.

​I then gave her a quick wash to rid her of all the dust that had settled over the last week - Poppy that is, not Emily - and went for a lovely test drive on the country lanes. Poppy was running sweeter than ever and I was enjoying sounding the horn whenever I felt like it. Which was quite often. Just for giggles.

So finally, a productive day. Hopefully, I’ll have something else to write about soon but in the meantime, stay safe everyone and see you on the other side.

By Mike Peake.

Eeee, Ba gum lad wim gowyn t’ Yorkshire moors ont’ touwer!
 
Ok, I’ll stop that now. It’s starting to hurt my throat and I don’t understand what I’ve written.
 
It was time for our much-anticipated tour of the Yorkshire Moors in celebration of dedicated member Bernard Owen’s 80th birthday and we were all very excited despite severe bumbling incompetence hitting weeks before the actual tour.

When Mrs FB heard about this tour she was very keen to come as it was “not camping”. In a moment of rare clarity of thought, our glorious Fat Controller of events (Gar Cole) realised that November, in the North Yorkshire Moors is likely to be a tad chilly and damp and not very likely to be conducive for happy camping. He booked the Cross Keys Inn.
 
Now, as well as being “camping averse”, Mrs FB was also rather unwilling to be driven 300 miles in a “rattle ridden, drafty old car with a leaky roof and no heating in November”. (I know. How rude! It’s a good job Poppy didn’t hear.) Fortunately Gar Cole came to the rescue. “I’m buying a car trailer, Mike.” He said. “You can borrow it whenever you like.” Sorted, I thought. So I sent him Poppy’s dimensions just to make sure. Gar successfully sourced a trailer and I towed it home from the NEC show. We won an award at the NEC show you know.

​Anyway, the trailer was parked on my drive in the dark and I only saw it in the dark until the next weekend which was the weekend before the tour. I went up to my lock up and gave Poppy her pre-flight checks and while I was there, I happened to look at the gap between Poppy’s wheels and had an alarming thought. I measured the gap between the wheels and the track. (Distance between the outsides of the wheels). The measurements were 43” and 49”. When I got back to the trailer, I measured that gap between the insides of the tracks. It was 47”! Ooops!
 
If I was really clever in loading, I could get poppy balancing on the raised lip on the inside edge of each track with 1” of tyre to spare on each side. Needless to say, I abandoned this plan so I decided to go in the CRV and car hop when we got there. Sadly, Poppy would be left at home for yet another tour this year.
 
Friday 22nd November dawned and we set off with a very sad looking empty trailer. (We were passing right by Gar’s house on the way so it would’ve been silly not to return it to him so that he could discover that Nelson wouldn’t fit either.)

​After a brief stop at Gar’s it was on to meet some more intrepid tourists at the Donington Park Services. (Just the 3 “n’s” Lo(r)raine, is that correct?) Nick and Jo, Windy and Sarah Woodward, Bernard and Thelma Owen and new tourists Anthony and Pat Osborne. Surprisingly Phil Allin was there too but he was just skiving and joining us for a coffee. He couldn’t leave until Lucas had finished school but you could tell his feet were itching. We sent Phil back to work and set of for the M1/A1(M) car park for the final 2 hour blatt to the hotel. With two decompression stops, I should be able to continue my journey to the extreme north without getting the bends or a nosebleed.

​Arrival at the hotel was a welcome relief after a traffic jam-laden trip but at least all the classics behaved themselves and in that sense it was trouble-free. The hotel was a fantastic find by Gar. It was newly refurbished and had only reopened the previous week. You could still smell the paint and the rooms were fantastic.
 
The rest of the tourists arrived over the afternoon and Bernard’s 80th birthday celebration weekend could start properly. A lovely evening was spent in great company with good food and just a little beer. Sue Clamp’s multi-storey birthday cake caused some problems as even Tosh Brooks’ mouth wasn’t big enough to deal with the height. 

​After the events at the NEC, Phil and I had made sure we remained at opposite ends of the pub for the whole evening as he is a very bad influence on me. As a result, I woke up in the morning feeling remarkably refreshed and healthy. Indeed, actually human.
 
Phil didn’t. For some reason, a night on Yorkshire ale had sent him “native”. He spent the whole morning dressed like this and saying things like “’Eee, ‘ave Tha seen ma ferrits?”, “Eee Thas reet grand thariz” and “Eee ba gum lad”. At one stage he even exclaimed “’Ow Mootch!” We tried to flush it out of him with copious amounts of tea. However, schoolboy error, it turned out to be Yorkshire tea. Oh well, Tha lives an’ learns young’uns, tha lives an’ learns. Oh no. He’s got me at it now!

​So let me introduce the tourists. First the little surprise left for us in the car park overnight. An unidentified classic car. It turns out that Graham was fed up of his very, very late 1999 Rover 75 trying to run him over on tour and has actually gone out and bought this rather lovely Humber called Humphrey.

​Newcomers to our tours, Pat and Anthony Osborne bought this cracking looking 1980 MGB GT. I particularly liked the black paint with the rubber bumpers. Welcome to the EBMVBB1985 Care in the Community group. It was great to meet you and I hope you weren’t scared away by Windy Woodward. Every group has one though and we’re sorry about that.

​Tosh and Gus Brooks Jake and Bella in their gorgeous P6 2000. Surprisingly, this is the P6’s second tour with us as Tosh hasn’t sold it yet. Get yer finger out Tosh. We’re bored now and need you to bring something else exciting. (Not so exciting that it wants to kill us though.)

​Nick and Jo were in the glorious Jensen. Nick had fitted new twin carbs (Not himself obviously. Don’t be daft!) They only cost £20 and he was making the most of the 10% improvement in fuel efficiency that the new carbs were giving him. He said he really enjoyed that extra 250yds.

Eric Dalton was in his Rover 216 VDP. This is a local one for our resident mad Scotsman and he almost forgot to stop at the hotel as he hadn’t driven his normal 600 miles to one of our events.

​Phil, Lorrain and Lucas were in Big Rov, the stately home on wheels. Big Rov loved Yorkshire and we all love Big Rov but we could all see his embarrassment at the antics of his driver.

​Being wafted around in the luxury that is the Ford Zephyr were Ian Woodward and his long-suffering wife Sarah along with Bernard and Thelma Owens. As the all-important 80th birthday boy, Bernard exercised his right to be chauffeur-driven this weekend, leaving Webster the Maxi at home. I do love this Zephyr despite the silly gear stick but most of all, I still can’t get over how appropriate it is for Windy Woodward to have a car called a Zephyr!!

​Poor Nelson had been left on the drive yet again in favour of the flash new mistress in Gar’s  life in the shape of the much younger Mk1 Mondeo. (All fur coat and no knickers that one, so they say. The Mondeo I mean - not Gar, obviously! Eeeew!

​Richie Moore and Stan Barnes joined us on the day in the stunning blue Sierra estate and the immaculate S-Type Jaaaag.

​Adrian, Rhianna and Shannon “Slugger” Jenkins  and her friend Casey were in Shannon’s very, very late 1999 Ford fiesta. John Ticehurst, Kevin Terry, Keith and Marcus McGovern, Mrs FB and I had all forgotten to bring a classic and would spend the day car hopping.

​That just leaves my very favourite, Brian Allison and his Mk II Triumph 2000. Obviously, it’s the car that’s my favourite not Brian. I really, really love this car and spending the day being chauffeured around in the warm cosy loveliness of it just underlined my desperate need to have a big Triumph in my life. Now, Brian has very kindly agreed to leave it to me in his will. However he inconsiderately, stubbornly and surprisingly (given he is older than time) clings onto life! Oh, er yes, and er long may it continue (at least long enough to spend the TLC sorting some of Tricia’s niggles anyway.) 

​So, now that you know everyone its back to the tour. We checked our weather apps and were pleased to see that Gar “Rainman” Cole had booked our usual weather even down to the yellow warnings.

​Gar handed out the tour notes and we were ready for the off. Actually we weren’t quite. Windy’s Zephyr had run out of electrickery and needed a top up from Gar’s flashy Jezebel but was soon up and running.

​Eric wasn’t so lucky though. His Rover VDP just point blank refused to start. Even our resident car whisperer Gus “Super Enthusiast Man” Brooks couldn’t coax her into life. The diagnosis? We believe that she was feeling hard done by and unloved as she had only been driven 100 miles or so yesterday instead her usual 600. Eric elected to wait for the recovery chap who couldn’t cheer her up either and Eric and the Rover were towed home. So, bit of a busman’s holiday for ex recovery driver Eric.

​The slight delay meant that we’d all had time to meticulously study the tour notes that Gar had handed out rather than mess about in the car park taking daft photos. This meant that as Gar pulled out of the hotel in the white Jezebel, everyone was ready to ……. head off in their own completely different directions. Honestly, it was like a Red Arrows break, even down to the green coloured smoke leaking from Windy Woodwards window.

​Brian and I had an excuse. We turned around and went to make sure Eric was ok and didn’t want to jump in with us. As for the rest - who knows? Actually, Humphrey the Humber had a little hiccup and needed a short rest before bravely continuing after Super Enthusiast Man gave him a hard stare.

Once Gar was happy that he had his flock successfully corralled, we all set off again for our 1st official stop at Hutton le Hole. Well to be more specific, The chocolate factory at Hutton Le Hole. The ladies on tour had found out about this little gem and insisted that it we added it to our itinerary. To be honest, none of the men folk argued too hard as we all want our ladies to be happy. Not to mention that some of us may like chocolate too. Anyway, who wanted to go and who didn’t was all rather academic; it was shut.
 
The car park was jolly nice though and well worth the £2.50 we’d all put in the machine. Adrian also took the opportunity to replace some of the air that had fallen out of the Fiesta’s tyre. It was only flat at the bottom though, so I’m sure it will be fine.

We left Hutton Le Hole car park for a fantastic drive across the moors to Grosmont. I didn’t know 1 in 3 hills existed before this trip but Gar seemed to have found loads of them. It was brilliant! The weather was bleak and the moors were bleak and it was all rather beautiful because of it. I loved it. The hauntingly beautiful scenery necessitated several unscheduled photo opportunity stops including the ruins of iron smelting kilns high up in the middle of nowhere before the notorious 1 in 3 descent down the “Chimney Bank”.

​Grosmont is one of the stations on the wonderfully nostalgic North Yorkshire Moors Steam Railway. It was chosen as a stop because of the unspoilt Victorian station where we would be able to see steam trains roaring in and out of the station and experience all the accompanying sights, smells and sounds. It was shut.
 
We did however manage to break onto the station platform which was indeed nostalgic. Gar was telling everyone that would listen that this station “played the part of Hogsmeade station in the Harry Potter Films” before running up and down doing his beast Hagrid impression. Which, to be fair was actually quite good.

​None of us had the heart to tell him it was Goathland station further up the line that played Hogsmeade. We were all enjoying the Hagrid impressions too much. At Grosmont we also broke into the engine sheds and gaped at the huge massive engines up close before finding a proper old fashioned toy er… I mean model shop to mooch around in and gape at the tiny little engines up close.

​It was just a short trip from Grosmont to Goathland and this was the stop Mrs FB and I were looking forward to the most. Back when we were newlyweds, we were avid fans of a brand new police drama starring Nick Berry and Niamh Cusack. We were even expecting our 1st child at the same time as the main characters in the drama. Yes, Goathland was where Heartbeat was filmed. It was fantastic to drive around the village green  and see the “Aidensfield Arms” and “Scripps Funeral Parlour and garage.” Which of course we had to stop outside and take pictures.

​Whilst we were taking the famous photo outside of “Scripps” which, as you can see, was all done up just as in the programme, the owner of the gift shop done up as “Scripps” came out and rather grumpily and rudely told us to “clear off” as we were “takin’ bloomin’ liberties!” Well, he said something like that.

​He didn’t seem to understand that after taking the pictures all 28 of us would quite likely have gone in and given him money for his cheap tourist tat thus providing him with his living. Furthermore, our cars were causing quite a stir among the other tourists and parked outside his shop could have drawn in even more custom. Never mind.

​We had the last laugh anyway by driving really slowly past the premises and taking photos anyway. I left a blistering review on trip advisor too. That’ll teach him. At least, I will do, as soon as I think of something suitably witty and cutting.

​I have to say, it was a bit of a shock to come across a grumpy Yorkshire man. I mean, A grumpy Yorkshire man? Who knew? After all, we have Yorkshire men in our very own group and they’re all happy, cheerful, fluffy and lovely types who are never the slightest bit grumpy. What? What do you mean “who’s that then?” Yes, of course I mean Brian, Gus and Tosh. Why are you laughing?
 
Anyway, we all laughed off our brush with Grumpy and continued on to Goathland station. You know, the station that actually played Hogsmeade station in the Harry Potter films. There were still no steam trains as the railway was still shut for the winter and there was not even a whiff of the magical Hogwarts Express, but we had fun whilst indulging our nostalgia bones all the same.

​Now it was time for the short drive to the Cross Butts Inn in Whitby (no, I can’t imagine why it’s called that either) where we were having Bernard’s birthday dinner. We’d managed to convince Pukka Phil that the restaurant had called to say that they’d run out of pies to see if we could set off another teenage strop New Forest style. Yes I know you will deny this Pukka Phil as you pretended not to believe us, but we all saw your bottom lip trembling and don’t think we didn’t notice you stood by the door to steal the 1st portion of pie to be bought through.
 
Whilst the rest of us were waiting for our food and Pukka Phil was filling his face with pie, Windy Woodward was teaching Lucas how to make a wine glass sing. He’s a good teacher and it wasn’t long before Lucas produced a fine pure note. Windy then rolled up his sleeves, said “Hold my Beer”, wet his fingers and started to run them round the rim of the glass. We were all utterly amazed and our ghasts were flabbered when a full orchestral rendition of the Bridal March rang out across the Inn. Ian took a bow and the applause was deafening.

​Actually, there was a wedding in the function room next door but the timing couldn’t have been better if it was planned. The rest of our meals were delivered and the food was exceptionally good as was the service. Even Tosh wasn’t complaining. But now it was time for Bernard who really is a very lovely man and the Grandfather of the group. I shall now pass you over to Gar and Bernard themselves. (I mean watch the video you numpties! This is the interweb, It’s clever like that.)  

​It was all rather moving and got a bit emotional but we wiped our eyes, bashed our chests and started talking in manly voices about manly things until it was time to head off for our final destination,.
 
Whitby Abbey was our final destination before heading back to the hotel. We were all looking forward to mooching around its haunting chapel’s and vestibules looking for Count Dracula’s coffin and soaking in the spooky atmosphere. It was shut. 
 
Everyone was fussing around the car park to get the cars perfectly lined up with the floodlit Abbey making a fine backdrop and some really great photos were taken.

​Personally, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. It’s not as though they’ve even finished building it yet! I mean, I’m sure it will look lovely when it is actually fully built, but still.
 
Anyway, it rounded off a really great tour so huge thanks to Gar for all his tireless efforts in putting together a great day and it’s not even over yet.
 
We all headed back to our hotel and after a short nap as we’re all knocking on a bit now, we hit the bar for another great evening with great company. There was even a professional singer laid on for us! Well, yes. The least said about that the better. It was all we could do to stop Jo ripping his microphone away and taking over. Not that she wouldn’t have been a far superior replacement you understand. I’m sure she has the voice of an angel (What was that Nick? A Hells Angel you say? Well that is just rude Nick! I’m surprised at you.) No. we were only stopping Jo as we felt it would be rude to usurp the professional.
 
Phil and I were still making sure that we never inhabited the same end of the pub at the same time but it would appear that his claim that I was the bad influence wasn’t his only worry. He was so concerned after the effect that drinking Yorkshire Ale had had on him, that he was choosing to drink the least Yorkshire, and coincidentally least manly tipple to be had. Yes, and I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say, that I am deeply ashamed to report that he was drinking … Baileys! Not only that, but Baileys … with ice!!! I know. Oh the humiliation!
 
He wasn’t the only one. Lorraine was also drinking Baileys with Ice but as she is an actual girl, it’s not quite so shameful. Anyway, It would appear that Lorraine was only drinking Baileys in the extremely mistaken belief that it would improve her dancing.

​A really lovely evening was had by all in the best company possible. Midnight was soon upon us. The hotel staff were starting to drop subtle hints that it was time for us to retire to our rooms for the night. You know the sort of thing? Putting the chairs up on the tables and turning the lights out. Anyway most of our party took the hint and went to bed. Two of us didn’t though. Can you guess? Ha! No! it wasn’t Phil and I. We’d spent the whole weekend avoiding each other whenever alcohol was about. No. It was Mrs FB and Jo who stayed up way into the night putting the world to rights.
 
“At last!” I thought. I’d be able to administer the same levels of loving sympathy that Mrs FB gives my hangovers. Yes! Disappointingly, Mrs FB didn’t have so much as a minor head ache in the morning.
 
Now would be a good time to say a massive thanks to all those who attended. Along with the other regulars who couldn’t be here  you’ve made the social side of this group so much fun that it almost comes as a surprise that there are classic cars too.
 
So, hearty breakfasts were eaten, sad Goodbyes were said and we all headed our separate ways for trouble free trips home. All except Gar that is. The Jezebel’s gearbox let go a mile away from home. Nelson smirked, smugly.

By Mike Peake.

​Sunday seemed to dawn much, much earlier than I expected to the sound of Gus banging loudly on my door and a little man banging loudly in my head and another churning cement in my stomach. I reluctantly and manfully pulled myself out of bed but even a cold shower didn’t make me feel any more human. However, seeing Phil made me realise how bad it could have been. At least I’d managed to shut my bedroom door, undress, turn out my light and get into bed before falling unconscious last night. Phil hadn’t managed any of this and his hair in the morning was definitely reminiscent of Doc Brown in Back to the Future. As rough as Phil looked though, I didn’t feel that much better but at least it gave me a laugh. However, Gus’s lovingly prepared full English breakfast was just a step too far for me. Needless to say, Gus drove us to the NEC again. He must really love my CRV!
 
Once we were on the stand, a couple of gallons of strong coffee, some sugary cake and a look at our award winning exhibits soon had me back on my feet again. I did tell you that we won the Lancaster Insurance Sponsors Choice award at the Classic and Sports Car Awards dinner on Friday evening didn’t I? I think I must have.
 
Paul Green’s Standard Vanguard Estate was a stunner and puts a smile on everyone’s face. Paul bought this car originally as a stop gap car whilst he restored another. A friend of his had a 101 victor estate and Paul discovered that he really like classic estate cars so when this one turned up on Car and Classic, he went to Norwich with the trailer but walked away 3 times until the vendor offered it at the right price and it came home.

Paul told his mate, who restores his cars that it just needed 3 bulbs and a tune up. Two years and a lot of hard work later, it rolled out of his mate’s workshop and to its first show, which just happened to be a very cold day at a show run by our very group at the Coventry Transport Museum where it won the Member’s choice award! Apparently, he enjoyed himself so much that he wanted to be part of the Gang and we are making his dreams come true. Yes, I know. They must be some very odd dreams.

​The remaining AWARD WINNING car on our AWARD WINNING stand belongs to John and Jean Dickson and it’s a rather lovely 1961 MkII Austin A55 Cambridge. Before it came into John’s ownership, the car’s history showed an awful lot of owners, most of them in recent times and apparently all part of the Banger Racing community. Luckily, they all decided that it was too good to race and “Lucky” found her way eventually to John and Jean.
 
I first saw this car when John joined us on our Dark Peak tour and have to admit, I was smitten and very pleased when it was chosen to join us on our stand.

​I have to say that the Lancaster Insurance NEC Classic Car show really outdid itself this year and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Not just because we won an award, (WE WON AN AWARD!!!) and not just because it seemed much friendlier this year and the rivet counters had seemed to stay away but because of the outstanding quality of all the displays. There really was some strong competition for us. (But we beat them ALL and WON THE AWARD! Naa Naa Nana Naaaa!)
 
Here is a gallery of some of my favourites.

​After winning the Pride of Ownership at the 2018 NEC Classic Motor Show, Shiny Paul Shiny (Clappison) was invited to enter his very shiny MGB GT onto the Meguiar’s  “who’s got the shiniest shiny car” stand. He was really mixing it up with the big boys of shiny. So, after donning my welders goggles to protect me from the glare of this shiny stand, I headed over to Hall 1 to see how Shiny Paul was doing.

​When I got there the glare was so strong that I slathered on some factor 50 just to be safe. I have to say that Shiny Paul’s shiny MGB GT definitely deserved to be there and to my untutored eye looked every bit as shiny as the rest. On learning that shiny Paul is solely responsible for the current world wide cotton bud shortage, I appreciated the amount of work that goes into shiny. 

The judges' white gloves were still white after their very, very thorough inspection of Shiny Paul’s work of art proving he still has Shiny sorted.

​The other car on the Meguiar’s  “who’s got the shiniest shiny car” stand, that really caught my attention, was this humble Metro. The young lad had bought it for £500 and used it as his daily runner before his passion for “tidying it up” became a bit of a fetish and he achieved this. A real credit to the chap.

​Unfortunately, neither the shiny MGB GT or the shiny Metro, nor any of the multi million pound temples of shiny gracing Meguiar’s  “who’s got the shiniest shiny car” stand, were deemed by the judges to be quite as shiny as this stunning Mini and all I can say is WOW!

​The rest of the show was spent like most of the shows in eating cake and chatting to all our members that made the effort to visit us on the stand and say hello. It was really great to see you all Thank you. Sadly though, the show came to an end in the traditional blaring of horns and it was time to pack up and say cheerio.

Video needs sound.

​So, a massive thank you to Nick Arthur for the beer barrel, Paul Green for the Standard Vanguard, Mick and Gill Taylor for the Vauxhall VX 4/90, John and Jean Dickson for the Austin A55 and Gus and Tosh Brooks for Apollo the P5B camper. You WON AN AWARD CHAPS! Thank you. Special thanks to Lexy too for fulfilling her guard dog duties so well.
 
HUGE thanks to Dave Youngs and Lancaster Insurance for their continued support and choosing us for the Sponsors Choice AWARD THAT WE WON!
 
Thanks are also due to Phil Allin of Alvaston Press who regularly supports us with the fantastic banners and flags and tour plaques and to our other sponsor, Richard Edmonds Auctions. We couldn’t put on these events without these guys' continued support so thanks again.
 
Finally, hugest thanks of all to Gar Cole for his passion, drive and energy and to Captain Paul Sweeney for his continuous behind the scenes beavering away all the way from New Zealand. We hope that one day that he can join us to see the fruits of his labours in the flesh. Nothing would happen in this group without these two top chaps.
 
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed my report and that I managed to convey how much fun we had and that we WON AN AWARD!
 
Of course, I have to finish with a picture of our glorious Fat Controller of events, eating at an event as well as some other members who couldn’t quite handle all the excitement. Its traditional you see.

​See you soon.
 
Fatbloke. 

By Mike Peake

​Saturday seemed to dawn much earlier than I expected but Gus had made us a lovely cooked breakfast to fortify ourselves for the day ahead and we’d all made our packed lunches. So, bright eyed and bushy tailed we set off for the NEC. Gus had so enjoyed driving my CRV last night that he insisted on driving it in that morning too. We arrived safely and even managed to meet up with Tosh in the car park before arriving at our AWARD WINNING stand and proudly setting up the AWARD THAT WE WON for all to see the AWARD THAT WE WON. WE WON AN AWARD at the Classic and Sports Car magazine awards dinner on Friday evening you see.
 
Nick Arthur sent us a message to say that he wouldn’t be in that day because he was pretending to have an event with the Jensen owners and that he wasn’t at all hung over at all and we all pretended to believe him.
 
Mick, Gill and Lexy Taylor were there though and because we were now an AWARD WINNING stand we decided to employ Lexy as our vicious guard dog to protect both the award and our award winning exhibits on our stand that we won an award for. I’m not sure whose idea it was to employ Lexy as our vicious guard dog because she is gorgeous, cuddly, fluffy and soppy and not at all vicious in any way. She is very big though and I suppose if someone stood behind her making growling noises we might get away with it.

​Mick, Gill and Lexy are the very proud owners of the stunning 1965 Vauxhall VX 4/90. An unrestored and quite exceptional car. After the 1st owner, the car was a museum exhibit for 30 years. The 2nd owner kept it for 15 years and used it for the occasional car show before passing into Micks incredibly fortunate hands in July of this year. It proved very popular with the show going public and me.

​Our wonderful and glorious Fat Controller Gar Cole was running a bit late claiming an overrunning taxi job and categorically denying that it was due to over celebrating at the Chinese Buffet Island because we WON AN AWARD.
 
Once he did come in though he refused to let the award out of his sight and he insisted on having a photo with it too.

​Seriously though, Gar puts so much time and energy into these events and without doubt we wouldn’t be winning awards with the big boys without him, so it was a privilege to see his little face light up with pride on seeing our new silver cake plate. In fact, the only time we saw him NOT clutching the award was when he was fighting Liam’s son Finlay for the last slice of Sandra Simpson’s Banana cake.
​
It was time for me to have a bit of a wander round the show, but before I went I asked if anyone knew where the Lancaster Insurance Pride of Ownership stand was. At which Gar burst out laughing and said, “It is probably over there under that HUGE Lancaster Insurance banner! I can’t believe you missed that HUGE banner!” It was only after we pointed out that as the main sponsor of the show, Lancaster Insurance had several of these HUGE banners scattered around the show. In fact there were 4 in our hall alone. That shut him up and he went back to cuddling the Award.
 
Well, I thoroughly enjoyed my wander and would like to introduce some of my very favourite cars that weren’t on our award winning stand.
 
First up would be the actual Ford Consul GT used in the opening credits of the Sweeney. Like many of us gents of a certain age, The Sweeney was a pivotal point in our growing up. From sneaking down the stairs to watch it through a crack in the door to finally being allowed to stay up and watch it properly and having to put up with Mum’s tutting every time someone swore. It was a great show and I actually felt privileged to be stood next to the car which had recently had an extensive restoration to earn its place in the entrance to hall 5. Wow! Just wow!

​As many of you know I am a bit of a Citroen fan and have long held an unrequited love for the DS. A truly beautiful car that was way, way ahead of its time. In fact it’s looks were so futuristic, it was used as flying taxis in the film Back to the Future II. So, imagine my joy when I came across this stunning example of the rarest of the rare Citroën DS Décapotable. It just oozes French charm even down to the iconic pack of Gauloise cigarettes on the dash board. Décapotable sounds so much better than convertible too doesn’t it?
​
Now look at the pictures while I imagine myself wafting around the south of France in it. 

​ I eventually wandered up to the Lancaster Insurance Pride of Ownership stand where many a gleaming shining example of motoring history was displayed. My reason for being here though, was to see our illustrious group founder Lord John Simpson of Boston and Practical Classics fame. He was displaying his beloved Sunbeam Alpine on the stand.
 
Now, for me, pride of ownership isn’t about having the most immaculate car in existence or spending loads of money making car immaculate and trailering it to shows. (Although John’s car is beautiful and shiny and immaculate). I think it is about your history with the car and John’s has this in spades. He has owned the car since 1981, painstakingly maintaining and repairing as and when needed. The car has given John and Sandra, their children and now their grandchildren so much joy and fantastic family and childhood memories and continues to do so. As I walked away after taking the family picture, I overheard one of John’s Grandsons say “Grandad, can I sit in your car?” Now THAT is Pride of Ownership.

​Unfortunately, when the vote was counted on Sunday, John missed out to this very shiny Morris Minor Million. The Simpsons know who the real winners are though and don’t need a trophy to prove it.

​It was now time to head back to the stand for a very nice cup of coffee served from our very own mobile café. Of course I mean Apollo, the Brooks family 1969 P5B Coupe Camper van.

​For those of you that have been members for any length of time and haven’t been hiding under a rock, you will already know and love Apollo who has become somewhat of a mascot and flagship of our group. For those of you that have been living under a rock or new members, put the shot guns and pitchforks away. Apollo was converted into a camper by his original owner way back in 1972 when you couldn’t spit without hitting one of these cars.

​No one is really sure why he chose this car to convert but he did and created a unique vehicle. The Brooks bought him some 5 years ago, and worked their magic to produce the glorious, mad as a box of frogs, vehicle we see today. A wonderful mix of the old and new, he was quite possibly, the most popular vehicle of the show.  There wasn’t a moment when he wasn’t surrounded by admiring show goers and he bought a smile to everyone that approached our stand.

​The show ended for the day and we all headed back to our respective digs. Tosh, Gus, Phil and I went back to the AirBnB before walking the 10 meters to the Pub for a jolly nice pie. Much to Pukka Phil’s dismay, I had the last pie so he had to make do with the monstrous mixed grill. Being in a pub, the chaps felt that it would be rude not to continue celebrating our award-winning performance and needless to say, the pub had moved when it came to home time and was much further than the 10 meters from the house that it was when we went in. Even so, Phil felt that we hadn’t done enough celebrating already and made us celebrate winning an award some more.
 
Tosh and Gus headed off to bed some time later, but I just felt that I couldn’t leave Phil down in the dark celebrating winning an award on his own so I took another one for the team and kept him company. It might have got a bit silly but we did WIN AN AWARD you know.

​To be continued …

By Mike Peake

​Just in case you weren’t aware, WE WON AN AWARD!!! More on that later though in its proper place. Sorry but I’m still excited that WE WON AN AWARD!
 
I wasn’t able to make set up on Thursday due to not having much leave left. However, I hid in the beer barrel for a while when I got there on Friday and got all the gossip as the rest of the group chatted freely without realising I was there. You see, the chaps are starting to wise up and realise that everything stupid that they say and do WILL be used against them in the subsequent blog. Therefore I am having to take ever more drastic measures to get the scoop. Hence hiding in the Everard’s beer barrel.

​Of course, when Gar got it to the NEC, Super Enthusiast Man Gus Brooks was there to save the day. Yes, the beer barrel started immediately, leaving Gar and Nick very red faced and claiming it must have been the damp. I guess now would be a good time to give you a bit of the history behind this unique vehicle.
 
WE WON AN AWARD! (Ed. Yes Mike, they know, but you haven’t reached that part of the story yet!) Sorry. Where was I? Oh yes, the beer barrel.
 
Well it was originally built on a Morris J2 chassis and running gear for Whitakers of Halifax and promoted their “Cock o’ the North” brand (Stop sniggering!) before moving onto a wine company and finally ending its working life at Everards Brewery. Fast forward to 2011. The finance boffins at Everards  noticed that they’d been paying a farmer a monthly fee for a number of years but no one could remember why. When they went to investigate, they rediscovered the beer barrel languishing in a barn. Yes. This actually is a proper “Barn find”. It was in a bit of a sorry state, so Everards pulled it out from the farmers barn and delivered it to the National Brewery Centre.
 
The museum has a team of volunteers who were very keen to get to work on the van and have worked hard on restoring it back to its former glory. The project has taken over 5 years with the volunteers working on it once a week every week. They have done Everards proud and they now have a fully running, fantastic looking, unique publicity vehicle. The Barrel is now on permanent loan and displayed at, the National Brewery Centre. (Unless Everards need it.)
 
This fantastic vehicle caused a bit of a stir with the show-going public but especially with the chaps on the Morris J2 Register stand.  Before the show, they knew nothing about this vehicle for the 30 years they’ve been running the register and boy were they excited! They were asking lots and lots of questions and clambering all over and under the barrel, taking pictures and finding the chassis plate. I think they spent more time on our stand than they did their own.

​Of course, this wasn’t the only stir on the stand. Dave Youngs of Lancaster Insurance caused a bit of a flap too when he bought a couple of tickets for the awards dinner and insisted that we be represented at the event. Well, Gar had a taxiing job at stupid o’clock on Saturday morning so he wasn’t up to it and no one else had bought the posh frocks that are necessary at such events. In the end, Nick Arthur and I took one for the team and said we’d go.
 
Not having a posh frock wasn’t my only issue though. You see, I had been invited to stay in Windy Towers this weekend. I was to have the impressive mobile suite fitted with every luxury your sophisticated chap around town could possibly need. (Of course I mean me!! Cheek!) It even had staff quarters in a small brick building at the other end of the drive where the aromatic butler and long suffering Housekeeper would prepare a breakfast of kings for me in the morning. Unfortunately, it would prove a bit difficult to get to after a free bar at the awards dinner. There was nothing else for it, I would have to slum it in the spare room of Gus’s AirBnB. The things I have to do for this club!
 
It was now 7pm and I should have been at the event but I was still on the bus heading for the car park for a quick spray of deodorant and a splash of aftershave and didn’t get to the Hilton (told you it were posh) until 7.20. The only door that remained open to the hall happened to be right down the front next to the stage, which, to my utter horror already contained eminent people giving speeches. My utter horror was elevated even more utterly when I realised that table 25 was in the diametrically opposite corner from where I was standing.
 
Well there was nothing else for it so, as surreptitiously as a fat bloke can, I waded through the tightly packed tables and chairs. Needless to say it wasn’t very surreptitious at all and was accompanied by many utterances of “excuse me”, “sorry”, “can I just…” as well as the scraping of chairs, much tutting and a loud gasp. (I am so sorry Madam!)

​Much to my relief, when I reached the table The four Scotsmen from the TR register and Nick who had already made themselves comfy on table 25, were drinking beer. This left a full, unopened bottle of wine just for me. I poured myself a large one and relaxed.
 
The evening progressed and after a very, very nice curry followed by cake, err… I mean gateaux. (Well it were posh weren’t it?) it was time for the awards. I have to admit, my hopes weren’t high after our previous experiences of awards dinners, so imagine our surprise when we heard our Group name called out. I carefully made my way to the front through the tightly packed  tables and chairs again to graciously receive our award with dignity and to polite applause from the audience.
 
Oh who am I kidding, people were diving over tables to get out of my way and the remaining tables and chairs seemed to fly aside like the parting of the red sea as I ran to the stage shouting “in your face!” to the runners up and air punching like a hooligan.

Well OK, maybe that’s not strictly true either, but by some means, that probably fell somewhere between the two methods above, I got my hands on the award and I was jolly pleased.

​Oh yes, What was the award for? It was the “Sponsors Award for the group of cars that they would most like to take home” and when they were announcing us as the winners, special mentions were made of Apollo, the Everards Barrel and the Vauxhall VX 490, which Dave Youngs of Lancaster Insurance would “Give his right arm” for. I thought that would be a bit silly of him as it’s not an automatic.
 
I have no idea who else won what as we were celebrating with my full bottle of wine and laughing at Nick who was reduced to minesweeping unopened bottles of beer on other tables as he and the 4 Scotsmen had drunk all of ours. I’m sure there must be a website with the list of winners somewhere though.  (Click here to see the list)
 
The evening wound up and our carriages arrived to take us home. Well Gus picked me up in my CRV and took me back to the AirBnB where, to my horror, I discovered that Phil Alin was also staying. Long term readers will know that Phil is a very, very bad man who leads me astray and always makes me drink far more alcohol than I am comfortable with.
 This was no exception and we were up until the early hours “celebrating” because WE WON AN AWARD!!
 To be continued…

By Mike Peake.

Oh my good gods! it's a miracle! An honest to goodness, I've found Jesus, water into wine (that's my favourite) MIRACLE! The photo above was taken by Paul Cheetham - and I can't quite believe I'm saying this - he has actually managed to get the famous landmark AND classic cars in the same picture! What do you mean where? Right there above Poppy's boot. That's the Needles that is and the famous lighthouse! Well done Paul!!!

Sorry, I got distracted by the miracle.

Anyway, it was time to leave the beach side car park for our next leg to the Sammy Miller Motorbike Museum. It was about now that I realised I should have listened to my subconscious and parked nose 1st. You see, the inside of my windscreen and all my rear view mirrors were now covered in sea spray which, when you try and wipe off, just smears horrendously. I’m sure this leg was full of lovely scenery and great roads, but all I could see was smeary green bits, smeary grey bits and a smeary red Corsair.
 
Windy Sweet Kitten came to my rescue when we got to the museum with some fresh clean water and a clean cloth; my sight was miraculously restored.
 
Some of the crew needed to stock up on food and disappeared into the museum café. Phil only wanted a baked potato but they’d run out so he made do with cake. Others braved the long waiting times for more substantial meals while Anita and I were still full up from our HUGE breakfast.
 
The museum was AWESOME! Even for someone like me that knows very little about bikes, but now, I want a classic motorbike! Hundreds of fantastic bikes on display and every single one of them runs. (I asked) The really early ones were a bit nuts though and were basically an engine strapped to a bicycle.

​Others had leather belt drives with the belt running uncomfortably close to where ones gentleman parts would be should you be daft enough to want to ride one or have the sudden urge to sing soprano.
 
For some reason, I was particularly drawn to the Triumphs in the display, especially the 1942 War Department bike.

​Lots of other makes were there too to evoke nostalgia. Brough Superior, Norton, BSA, Ducati and even Harleys including an Indian.

​Once we were able to tear ourselves away from the museum, it was time for even more photos in the car park.

​It was now time to head for the final stop of the day. Well, it would have been, but the greedy guts Jaguar boys had waited so long for their food that they’d only just made it into the Museum. The siren call of the Ringwood brewery had already snared the rest of us, so we said we’d meet them there and headed off through more of the twisty turny uppy downy roads of the New Forest to fill the small brewery car park with classic cars. The Greedy Guts Jaguar Boys caught us up too.
 
Now I know what your thinking. Is visiting a Brewery on a driving tour a good idea? Well, for the drivers I guess not. Limiting yourself to one was tough but we made sure we all bought a different one and therefore were able to at least sample all the beers on offer and decide which ones we’d buy in the shop to take home. There was also a Bedford ‘O’ series truck in the car park but despite everyone’s best efforts, Mrs FB Just wouldn’t see the benefits of a camper/beaver tail conversion.

​Whilst relaxing and supping our pint, we decided that after the super posh nosh we’d enjoyed the night before, we needed to bring ourselves back down to earth. We all fancied fish and chips. However, the weather forecast for the evening was atrocious so we felt an indoor experience might be a good Idea. So, on Pants Perman’s recommendation, Phil booked us all into Bertie’s, a fish and chip restaurant in Lyndhurst. Phil doesn’t like battered fish. (I know! Clearly there is something very wrong there.) However, he didn’t mind the dinning choice as he would have a Pukka steak and kidney pie with gravy and mushy peas like a proper northerner! We could all see the Homer Simpson drooling as he thought of it.
 
Dinner rendezvous agreed, the great day’s touring came to an end. We said cheerio to the Greedy Guts Jaguar boys, Pants Perman and Don and Louisa before setting off for our accommodation to dress for dinner.
 
What? Really? End of a tour and not one breakdown? I hear you say. Well, it’s true. Not one breakdown during the tour. However, It did become apparent that the electric passenger window, this time on the Jensen got stuck open on the way back to the hotel. Again, Nick tried to claim he managed to get it closed but Jo immediately cut him off at the knees and claimed credit for the fix. I believe Jo. Two reasons for this; 1) I’m scared of Jo and 2) as I may have mentioned, I’ve never seen Nick with a spanner.
 
What? Really? End of a tour and only Don and Nick got lost? I hear you say? Well I’d like to say this is true but as none of us had read the tour notes, Gar could have been leading us around completely lost all day and none of us would have known.
 
So after a jolly nice trouble free day, we all met up again in Bertie’s fish and chip shop with a few tables stuffed in a corner so it could call itself a restaurant, for a jolly nice, trouble free meal. Well, I say trouble free, but you remember Phil drooling over the Pukka steak and kidney pie, chips, mushy peas and gravy that he was going to order? Well they’d only gone and run out of Pukka steak and kidney pies hadn’t they! This, on top of not having his baked potato at lunch time, proved just too much for our normally mild-mannered Phil. He had a full-on teenage strop and decided that he “might as well just have bloody chips then!”.
 
The rest of us were in a state of utter shock at this outburst from the normally quiet Phil and it took us a full 10 seconds of silence before we all burst out laughing. On the upside, I think we may have finally found a nickname for Phil when Nick tried to console him by saying. “Never mind Pukka Pies Phil, our dinner is lovely.” Pukka Phil it is then.
 
The Next Morning, Mrs FB and I decided that, after a leisurely breakfast, we’d have a bit of a drive around the forest park and get lost for a bit which we did and found three great river fords. After driving the 1st one, we thought we should have filmed that for the blog. So when we came to the next one, Mrs FB got her phone out and filmed. Except she still had it on photo mode.

​When we were home, I let the “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this” chaps know that I was home and that if they hadn’t passed me they were welcome to pop in for a tea and a wee stop.
 
Well they hadn’t passed me as Gar was leading and he still had his sat nav on “Taxi Driver” mode so had taken a route via Weymouth and Reading according to the rest of the chaps. So, 30 minutes after my text, I was crushed in the stampede for the facilities shortly before being crushed in the 2nd stampede when the chaps smelled the freshly cooked rock cakes that Mrs FB had made specially.
 
So after a great weekend we all made it home without any problems at all.

Apart from Nick. Electrical gremlins struck again when Nick pulled into a petrol station to refill the Jensens Bunkers. The little electric motor that opens the fuel cap lock refused to cooperate and wouldn’t open the fuel cap. Yet again, Nick tried to claim credit for taking covers off and prodding the manual release and thus saving the day with a flourish. I don’t know about you, but I’m calling bull poopy on that one! It was Jo, wasn’t it Nick?
 
So once again, massive thanks to all the chaps of all genders that joined us for the weekend and made it such fun. Particularly Gar Cole for all his organising and enthusiasm. None of these events would happen without him. THANK YOU GAR. WE ALL LOVE YOU!
 
Photo credits to everyone I stole pictures from but especially Paul Cheetham from whom I stole the most.

​I hope you enjoyed the blog and I hope it has inspired lots more of you to join us on our adventures. We’d love to see you so keep an eye on the events section.
 
See you all at the NEC then chaps! Don’t forget your discount tickets using our club discount code.

By Mike Peake

​After one of the most enormous and  tasty breakfasts I’ve ever had and checking Poppy’s fluid levels, we set off to meet the crowd at “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this”.  No one was in the car park yet so we went round to Old Mother Cole mansions for a chat and to see if we could scrounge another coffee. We couldn’t but we did get hold of one of the wonderful tour plaques that our group sponsor Alveston Press of Derby had made for us. (That’s Phil Allin that is. Top chap and excellent printer for all your printing needs)

​When it was time to head to the car park, Poppy had a bit of a tantrum and refused to start. The strong smell of petrol suggested to Windy Sweet Kitten that she was flooded and suggested a bump start would be the cure and along with Mrs FB’s assistance immediately started pushing. He was right and Poppy was running again.
 
Poppy hasn’t had a proper run since I rebuilt the carburettor at the start of the year, so I suspected that the mixture wasn’t as good as it should be. I decided I would have a bit of a fiddle with it in the car park while we were waiting to leave. As Super Enthusiast Man wasn’t there, no amount of staring mournfully at the faulty part drummed up any help so I had to do it myself - which is where my bumbling incompetence struck again.

​In reaching my hand through to the mixture nut on the base of the carb, I burned my hand on the manifold. Then in my rush to withdraw my hand I first impaled, then sliced open my palm on the end of the choke cable. So, with blisters on the top of my hand and blood dripping from the palm, I looked around sheepishly. No one had noticed. The down side of this was no sympathy for my injury. The plus side was that no one would know about my bumbling incompetence unless I was daft enough to put it in the blog and I’m not going to do that! (Oh …. Damn!)

​Despite my injuries, I manfully struggled on and manage to tweak the mixture a bit. Whatever I did worked to some extent and mostly cured her reluctance to start when warm. More fiddling required when I get home though.
 
It’s time to start the tour so let me introduce the participating cars and their owners.
 
Representing the Isle of Wight Jaguar owners club, we have :-

​The Enthusiasts were made up of the following:-

​Actually, Nick and Jo weren’t there. Nick claimed he was fixing the window in the Jensen and that we weren’t to wait. They’d catch us up.
 
10 minutes after we set off, we got a message to say that he was passing the “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this” car park, so the convoy pulled into a parking area to wait. They soon caught up & Jo let slip that it wasn’t Nick doing the fixing but actually the mechanic from the garage 2 doors down from the pub they were staying in. I had an idea that this would be the case as I have never ever, ever seen Nick with a spanner in his hands. Beer? Yes. Spanners? Never!
 
Now the convoy was complete, we set off again for a very pleasant drive through the New Forest.

This leg of the run took us through the lovely town of Lyndhurst made not so lovely by the huge traffic jam caused by the traffic lights in the town centre and the fact that every car in the New Forest was there. It had us all nervously watching our temperature gauges as they steadily rose and also broke up the convoy.

​Gar’s usual philosophy of “Leaving no man behind” seemed to have gone out the window now he was in his comfy and reliable Mondeo instead of Nelson. He pressed on at only fractionally sub sonic speeds. Phil, Pants Perman and I managed to hold onto his coat tails, just. The 4 of us arrived at our 1st official stop in a car park in Milford on Sea. Gar takes us to all the best places! To be fair, the view was spectacular.
 
As we pulled into the front row overlooking the Sea, I was going to pull in nose 1st but the rest were reversing in so I followed suit as it would make great photos with the Needles behind in the distance.
 
It was some time before the rest of the convoy arrived, but arrive they did. Except Nick and Jo in the Jensen and Don and Louisa in the Stag. Don was getting hopelessly lost and Nick was blindly following having learned nothing from our previous tours. They caught up eventually.

​To Be Continued …

By Mike Peake

​A wet and windy run down through the lovely green lanes of Wiltshire ensued - all rather uneventfully. We did get a call from Gar though. After his antics on the last tour, I was expecting a fuel requirement, but no. He needed another “facilities break”, so we stopped at the next petrol station. It didn’t have a customer toilet. We were only 30 minutes from the holiday resort that the chaps were staying in, so it was decided that he would try and hold out. We put him in the lead though, just in case.
 
Poppy gave me a bit of a scare by not starting straight away but she got there after a few turns of the key and we were off again. The exit from the garage joined the road after a set of traffic lights and Gar and Phil nearly killed themselves when they exited. I waited until the lights turned green and the rest of the convoy re-joined the road at a more sedate pace. Gar and Phil didn’t wait though. Luckily, I had the destination programed into Gladys the sat nav and we pulled into the New Forest resort, “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this”. Yes, It really is called that. Well, nearly, and yes, we all sniggered like school boys every time the holiday resort was mentioned.
 
We pulled up in the “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this” car park and waited for Gar to book us all in. This took somewhat longer than expected as the “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this” staff wouldn’t accept the booking without the “Booking.Com” reference number that Gar hadn’t bought with him. An hour later we made it to the caravan.

​To call the “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this” accommodation "a caravan” grossly understates the opulence that greeted us when we opened the door. Comfy sofas, fully stocked kitchen including a dishwasher and digitally controlled climate control that no one could operate until young Paul Cheetham arrived. Gar had already bagged the double room which turned out to be a whole wing of the building. A huge super king size double bed and an en-suite BATH room. Yes, a massive bath in a caravan! He’d done quite well for himself. Even the bath had more room than the Holivan Junior 8 that is Gar’s normal accommodation on tour. Windy Sweet Kitten and Berbo had 2 single cots stuffed in a broom cupboard. They weren’t quite as pleased as Gar was.
 
We decided to leave the chaps to explore the “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this” stately home and set off to check into our weekend accommodation. No, not a tent. Mrs FB insisted on accommodation with a proper roof and beds if she was going to grace us with her presence. Gar had excelled himself by booking us into a rather nice B&B with the rather less amusing name of “Little Forest Lodge”. It was beautiful. We were welcomed with complimentary tea and homemade banana cake while we checked in, and if it wasn’t for the single beds Gar had booked us, it would have been very romantic. (In his defence, he had booked it for Phil and Paul before I hijacked the booking)

​We all met up again at the Compasses, where Nick and Jo were staying, for an exceptional dinner only spoilt by all of us imagining Tosh Brook’s Yorkshire exclamation of “Ow Mooch!” when we looked at the menu. We had to imagine it, as Tosh hadn’t bothered turning up for this one because the New Forest is a long way from Doncaster. I know - what a lightweight! This also meant that we were touring without the comfort blanket of “Super Enthusiast Man” Gus Brooks. I have to say that we were all rather worried about the prospect of fixing our own breakdowns.
 
I say we all met up for dinner but Nick and Jo were late due to a “Hamlet moment”. Those of you who are old enough to remember tobacco advertising on TV will know Nick’s problem. For the rest of you, the electric window on the driver’s side of the Jensen had stuck in the open position. Have I mentioned that it was freezing cold and chucking it down with wet rain?
 
We were all extremely sympathetic to their plight and hardly laughed at all when 2 bedraggled, wet and cold people finally arrived at 9.40pm. We hardly laughed even more when they found out that the kitchen closed at 9.30pm and were no longer taking orders for food. However, Jo used her feminine charms on the chef and scared him into rustling up some nachos and a sandwich. (That was a direct quote from Nick when I asked how he got the food. Nothing to do with me. Honest Jo! No, really.)
 
The fun and laughter had to end as we all left for our respective accommodations for a good night’s sleep in preparation for meeting the Isle of Wight Jaguar boys in the “Sandy Balls? No. I always walk like this” car park the next morning, ready for the tour.
 
Oh, you may have noticed that Ian Woodward’s nickname has lengthened slightly to “Windy Sweet Kitten”. Well you have Sarah “Cup Cake” Woodward to thank for that after their romantic and moving Wedding Anniversary Facebook posts. (Oh No! I’ve just been a little bit sick in my mouth again!)
 
To be continued …

By Mike Peake.

​So very nearly almost there! Can I get to the end or will bumbling incompetence ruin everything?

​​The next job was fitting the back of the hood back on to the rear deck. The previous chap had done this with a mixture of self-tappers and pop rivets. I’d been clever though and bought the correct quantity of the correct self-tappers from Canleys. However, when I went to fit them, they were too small for the holes drilled in the bodywork. So I went out and bought bigger ones. No 7 self-tappers. They were still too small and number 8 heads were too big to fit into the male popper studs.

​Cursing the previous chap for pointlessly drilling out the holes, I decided to resort to pop rivets. These didn’t work either as they just pulled up onto the back of the finisher rather than the bodywork. I was stumped. Whilst doing all this, I decided that the popper studs I’d taken off really weren’t good enough to go back on, so went to order some new shiny ones and ponder my dilemma.
 
Whilst looking at the parts diagram to get the part number for the studs, I noticed something that had previously eluded my attention. They weren’t self-tappers that Canleys were selling to hold the hood and finisher to the rear deck. They were, in fact, No 6 bolts. Well, that’s not embarrassing at all is it? So I ordered some No 6 nuts and washers to go with the new studs and gave up any thought that I will ever be anything other than a bumbling incompetent fool.

​The parts arrived and the hood was fitted with the help of Mrs FB who fitted the washers and nuts on the inside while I fed the bolts through from the outside. Correct quantity? Well maybe not. I was two short. Oh well, I’ll add them to the order for the driver’s door mirror. The bracket broke when I tried to fit it.

​The headlights, sidelights and front grill all went on without any dramas at all. Well, apart from when I tried the right indicator, my left sidelight flashed and vice versa and my indicators came on with the sidelights. This was very quickly rectified with the judicious use of my multimeter. Now, I know what you’re going to say. “Why didn’t I look at my wiring diagram and identify the wires by their colours or simply look at the photos I’d taken before disconnecting?” Well, I’m glad you asked. No really, I am. You see, I’d forgotten to mask them and they were now all red. I’d also put the badges on the grill upside down.
 
Thanks to BL Dan’s advice the Triumph lettering and centre bonnet trim actually did go on without a hitch.

​It was now time to put the inside of the car back together again. Whilst the gearbox tunnel was off, Mrs FB took it upon herself to re-spray the “Trinket tray” as she called it. The black paint I’d applied a long while ago was badly chipped and the white fibreglass tunnel was showing. She did a fine job. I also checked and topped up the gearbox oil, as it's much easier to do it from here than under the car.
 
The tunnel, speaker, door cards and handles were all refitted easily. However after fiddling with the door and window handles for ages to get the tiny cotter pin located, I realised I hadn’t fitted the escutcheons. Also, after fitting the gearbox tunnel with its 24 bolts and washers, fiddly to fit gaiter, carpet and speaker, I got out of the car and there, lying on the floor was, the insulation pad that goes under the tunnel. Eventually though, the inside was ready for a good and thorough clean. Mrs FB volunteered to do this too along with refitting the offside hood window again as the previous repair hadn’t stood the test of time.

That just left me to do the boot area. Fit the new carpet, refit the fuel tank, reconnect the fuel tank sender and number plate light to the wiring harness and fit the boot lid hinges and stay. Oh and four new tyres.

​​I really was on the home stretch. I tried not to get excited and concentrated on finishing it with no more moments of bumbling incompetence.
I succeeded – mostly. I was finished. I’d done it! - for now.

​At this stage, I would like to offer massive thanks to my sainted paint Guru Tosh Brooks for his advice, mentorship and above all patience. Couldn’t have done it without you mate. Thanks. All the good bits are down to Tosh. All the cock ups are mine and mine alone. Of course I’d also like to thank everyone else who offered advice and material help. It’s part of what I love about this group and the proper real life friendships I’ve found here.
 
So, have I enjoyed the process? Well, looking back, now the pressure is off, I’ve got the finished article to look at and can see the funny side of my various incompetent episodes – NO I BLOODY DIDN’T!! Well, maybe I did. Just a little bit.
 
Would I ever do it again? Well, I have learned loads of new skills, I have the proper equipment so – NO I BLOODY WOULDN’T!! Well, maybe, if the right Mini came up. Right now though, I am very much of the opinion that I would happily give the car and a shed load of cash and another shedload of award winning lemon drizzle cake to Tosh Brooks and let him get on with it. He really is the god of painting.
 
Am I pleased with my work? That’s a tough one. It depends of the light. It certainly isn’t the perfect glass smooth, mirror finish that I expected and Tosh Brooks turns out time and time again, but maybe I’d set my expectations too high for a 1st attempt. It is red now though and not pink.
 
I have certainly come to see that it is absolutely true that EVERYTHING is in the preparation. There are a lot of dinks and dents and even some sanding marks that I hadn’t feathered out properly. I really thought I had got them all and filled or feathered accordingly. Both Mrs FB and I had gone over the whole car in miniscule detail and thought we’d caught them all. However, I guess our inexperienced eyes and fingers missed some. Ok, missed a lot. That, or the fairies attacked it with tiny hammers in the night. In fact, that’s it. It was the bloody fairies and little folk! The evil things.
 
To me, all those little marks under the paint stand out. However, short of sanding it right back down and starting again, there is nothing I can do about that now, so I’ll have to live with it along with the remaining orange peel and the odd scratch from heavy handed flatting back.
 
So, to answer the question, No. Not really. I am very pleased with the fins, I just wish I knew what I’d done there and been able to repeat it on the rest of the car. The boot and bonnet aren’t too bad I guess.
 
I’m thinking that maybe over the winter, I might pick a panel or two and flat it back again with an even finer paper to try to improve it, but right now I’ve had enough.
 
She looks good in the photos and from about 3 meters away, so I will just have to bring Kevin and his triangle back to enforce a 3 meter exclusion zone around the car.

So, when you see her, lie through your teeth and tell me what a great job I did unless you want to see a grown Fatbloke cry.
 
In addition to the flatting, I still have more to do. I need to re-spray the white stripe,. I also need to sand the inside boot from the seagull poo primer I’d sprayed it with way back in the early stages and re-spray that too along with the inside of the doors.

​However, I’ve run out of paint, gumption, will power and the will to live for the moment so that can wait until next year. You can’t see it with the boot closed anyway. I could also do with taking out the wooden dash and giving it to my father in-law for a spruce up.(I'll fit the wheel trims on Friday after the new tyres are fitted.)
 
Not yet though. Now? I need to drive her!! 

By Mike Peake

With the boot lid now red and the very last of my paint used up, I was finished with spraying. Thank the gods! The isocyanates hadn’t killed me despite all the horror stories and neither did the cellulose fumes, so that is good news. I gladly threw away my disposable gas mask. Dare I say that I’m on the home stretch and there is light at the end of the tunnel?
 
After my adventures with rattle cans and boot lid last year, I’m leaving it well alone for at least a week before touching it. So I turned my attention to the unmasking. Following advice, I ran a razor blade along the edge of the masking before very carefully removing it. I even managed to do it without removing the paint from where it was supposed to be – this time. However, I was somewhat alarmed at the amount of red that was staining my windscreen and white stripe. Most of it turned out to be from flatting water and wiped off easily but some was paint that had managed to get through. Even this came off easily with some wet 1200 grit paper though. A razor blade flat on the windows had a similarly cleansing effect.
 
Mrs FB, with her steadier hands used touch up paint to go over the bits of damage I did to the white stripe when sanding the car as well as a few battle scars. It was now that we found out that my white stripe isn’t Triumph White 19. It turns out that Triumph White 19 is in fact a creamy colour and it looked almost yellow against my white. Anita and Sophie were dispatched to The Range and Halfords to look for a more suitable touch up. They came back with Vauxhall’s Summit White, which, whilst not perfect, will do until I can re-spray the stripe.
 
 I then machine polished and waxed it. I will re-spray the white stripe eventually, (when I’m feeling particularly masochistic) but want to make sure my new red paint is fully hardened. I don’t want to risk putting masking tape on new paint. 

​I then spent a full day at my polishing wheel getting all the chrome ready to go back on the car. There seemed a lot more of it than I remembered but it was quite a satisfying and therapeutic task and many of the parts came up really, really well considering I’d only ever used Autosol on it before.

​Next were the front bumpers which were a little more problematic than the rear ones. They slid on easily enough but getting them to sit correctly on the bendy bits was nigh on impossible. I did the best I could but it didn’t help that all 3 were too long and needed cutting whilst on the car but I got there in the end. That was the job I was fearing most about the build-up because of all the horror stories I’d read online. It’ll be much easier now won’t it?
 
Nope! If I thought that was fiddly, I should have waited until I fitted the aluminium bumper end caps before complaining! Good grief that was a pain! It took half a tube of KY Jelly, a very sharp knife, blood because of the very sharp knife, brute force, perseverance, ingenuity, bad language and a whole morning just to fit four aluminium bumper end caps.

​Still, the rest of the fitting up will be easy - won’t it? Of course not! I keep forgetting that I’m a bumbling incompetent fool, albeit an optimistic one with delusions of competence!
 
It was time to turn my hand to fitting the weather strips to the top of the doors. This’ll be easy as I’ve even bought the special tool and all new clips and strips to do it.
 
Needless to say, it wasn’t easy. Hours of trying to squeeze the special tool, weather strip, clips and my fat fingers between the window and the door skin produced no success whatsoever. I was beginning to see why the previous chap had resorted to pop rivets and self-tappers but I was determined to be the better man. I thought it might be easier to take the window out, so I removed the interior door handle, window winder and door card in order to get at the window mechanism. At this point I decided that, no, it wouldn’t be easier to take the window out. It was fiendishly complicated in there and my workshop manual hadn’t even bothered to try to explain how to do it. At least I was able to recover all the clips I’d dropped into the door though.
 
In the end, I managed to do it by fitting the clips to the strip first, and then stuffing it all into the gap and pulling the clips up into place using the special tool. I then carefully wiggled the rubber back up into the correct position. The second door went much quicker but I still had to remove the interior door handle, window winder and door card in order to recover dropped clips.
 
It took me a whole day just to fit 4 weather strips (inside and outside the widows). Traumatised and tired, I called it a day and had a pint of G&T in the garden.

​I could put it off no longer. It was time to flat back the boot lid. Have I mentioned how much I hate flatting back? I moved the boot lid into the back garden. However, having suffered the consequences of turning the garden table white after flatting back the primer, I made sure I covered the table in used polythene masking. The marathon began and the boot lid and my fingertips gradually became smoother and smoother. 

​It was time to get the machine polisher out to compound and polish the boot lid. I’d even learned a lesson from the last time I did this. I’d bought small polishing pads for my drill which is much easier to manoeuvre around the fiddly bits reducing the risk of inadvertently burning through the paint with the top of the polishing disc. It actually worked too. I didn’t burn anything. After a lavish application of wax, I was actually pleased, yes pleased with the result. I know! It’s a miracle! Of course it’s not perfect, but as I had no more paint or patience, I was pleased with it.
 
I was so pleased that I decided to fit the furniture. Another lesson learnt from last time, DON’T TURN IT OVER TO FIT THE FURNITURE!! I turned the boot lid up onto its edge and got Mrs FB to hold it so it didn’t fall over while I fitted it up. The finished boot lid was then VERY CAREFULLY carried through the house and placed safely on the back of the car. There is still lots of work to do in the boot so I didn’t fit it yet, but it was the safest place I could think to store it.

​So very nearly almost there! Can I get to the end or will bumbling incompetence ruin everything? I really wish I knew!
 
To be continued …

By Mike Peake

​The last time I wrote about my efforts to restore Poppy was about a month ago and I was in a bit of a funk with her. Well quite a bit has happened since then and surprisingly, none of them involved petrol cans, naked flames or tall buildings. It came close though, believe me.
 
So, I had an awful bonnet, a boot lid still in primer in the conservatory and I’d run out of paint – again. The clutch hydraulics were dry and the fuel pump wasn’t pumping. It was far too depressing to go anywhere near the front of the car but I needed to do something to enthuse me again. So, I flatted the rear deck, fins and wings and refitted the bumpers and lights. 

​To see things starting to come together gave me the boost I needed and I now had 2 weeks off work to crack on. I ordered another litre of paint and in the meantime, I started working my way towards the front of the car flatting, then compounding, then polishing then waxing one panel at a time.
 
It was going ok. Well I didn’t hate the results anyway. The panels were red and starting to take a bit of shine. That is until I got to the front off side wing where I flatted through the paint on the sharp edge above the wheel arch. I did say rude words however, as I still had painting to do and some new paint, the rude words weren’t as bad as they could have been. I could just add more coats to that wing at the same time I did the bonnet.

​It was now time to address Poppy’s new-found immobility and give myself a break from bodywork. The refusal to start was due to lack of fuel getting to the carburettor. As many of you will know, after a long story, I’d rebuilt and fitted an original AC Delco pump back in 2017, so I was a little fed up that it had failed after only 2 years. However, I put this down to using an older stock rebuild kit and perhaps the rubber parts weren’t up to the 5% ethanol in our petrol now. I ordered another rebuild kit.
 
The refusal to change gear was due to the fact that all the dot 4 fluid had fallen out. Now, it was only 5 years ago that I rebuilt the clutch master cylinder and replaced the slave, so I topped it up with new fluid and bled it through, having completed the fiddly and time-consuming task of removing the gearbox tunnel and carpet. It didn’t work. The pedal was still very light and the clutch wasn’t disengaging. I decided that the minor scoring I’d seen in the master cylinder during that last rebuild had got worse so I ordered a new master cylinder along with the petrol pump kit. Now I know what you’re thinking. How would that cause all the dot 4 to fall out? Well I hadn’t thought that far ahead had I!
 
Whilst I was waiting for these new parts to arrive I had a go at removing the paint that I’d accidently sprayed the hood with. My Paint Guru with the patience of a saint had suggested it would come off with thinners. I have no doubt he is completely correct, but splashing thinners around from an open can near new paint just seemed like a recipe for disaster for a bumbling incompetent fool like me.

​When casting my eye around the garage, I caught sight of the three extra cans of carb cleaner I had accidentally bought when rebuilding my carburettor. Well why not? An aerosol can is much easier to control than a 5 litre can of thinners. So, being ultra, extra careful not to get any on my new paint, I squirted a bit on an inconspicuous part of the hood and when the hood material didn’t immediately curl up and melt, I tried it on the errant paint. It worked a treat and my PVC hood is now black again

​ My shiny new parts arrived and I decided to start with the fuel pump. The pump was removed and all the parts quickly replaced and the pump returned to the car all in about 20 minutes. My patented hex headed bolt replacement working brilliantly on the RHS where you can’t get a spanner or socket on because of the manual pump handle.

​It was all going brilliantly. So well in fact that - flushed with this success - I decided to fit the new fuel line I had, to replace the bodged rubber pipe linked one. (Yes it was me who bodged it when I kinked the pipe fitting the pump the last time.) The new copper pipe was bent into shape, quite imaginatively in some places, and it was time to fit the union and olive and screw into the pump outlet. Disaster struck - I dropped the olive which immediately vanished down a wormhole into an alternate universe never to be seen again. I gave up looking after an hour and went indoors to order another olive and have lunch.
 
The new olive arrived the next day and I was straight into my tent and slipping the olive onto the end of the pipe. Then taking it off again to slide the union on 1st before putting the olive back on. Disaster struck - I dropped the olive which immediately vanished down a wormhole into an alternate universe never to be seen again.

​I didn’t swear too much this time as when I ordered the new olive, I enacted a canning plan. I bought 2 of them. I finally had it all secured and gave the manual handle a few pumps to fill the pipe back up with fuel and turned the ignition key. Poppy fired straight up and ran beautifully.

​Now time for the clutch master cylinder swap. Another easy 10-minute job because the gearbox tunnel and carpet was already removed. Normally, 4 or 5 full pumps on the pedal is enough to fully bleed it through but not this time. At the end of every pump I still had air spitting. After 4 pots full of fluid, I gave up and concluded that my 5 year old slave cylinder was kaput and indeed, was the cause of my vanished fluid.

​The pedal was quite a bit firmer so the master replacement wasn’t a complete waste of time and money, but the clutch still wasn’t fully disengaging. With much gear crunching, I did manage to get the car turned around though. The bonnet was now facing uphill and in the lighter end of the tent. I would now be able to see much better and hopefully have fewer runs now the bonnet is at a new angle.
 
I was ready to flat back the bonnet yet again so I immediately shut everything up and went to sit in the garden with a pint of G&T and ordered the new slave cylinder.
 
Next morning, I was stood at the front of the tent with 800 grit paper and a bucket of water. I couldn’t face it. So I tidied my little workshop, arranged my bottles and cans of cleaning product into alphabetical order and sorted my nut and bolt collection. Then my new slave cylinder arrived so I fitted that and bled it through, achieving a satisfyingly firm and fully-functioning clutch pedal.

​I could not think of any other little jobs to do to put off rubbing down the bonnet any longer, so I settled in and set to. Many, many hours later, I decided enough was enough and went in search of a bottle of merlot.
 
The next morning dawned and it was time to get the spray gun back out. The rest of the car was covered in polythene sheet and the bonnet tack clothed and panel wiped. I had decided that whatever happened, this was going to be the last time I sprayed the bonnet. Life’s too short and I can’t afford any more paint. So, it was with some trepidation that I pointed the gun at the car and began. I soon found my rhythm and settled in to the job. I was going to put plenty of paint on so I knew I’d have leeway for flatting out any defects afterwards. I put 4 coats on, making sure to allow a full 30 minutes between coats to flash dry.
 
I then left it all well alone and went to flat back the primer on the boot lid in the back garden. Have I mentioned I hate flatting back? This hatred was further advanced when I flatted through the primer on a couple of edges which meant I needed to spray a couple more coats and flat back again. More bad words said. More merlot required.
 
The next day, Poppy was moved out of the tent to give me room to spray two more coats of primer onto the boot lid.
 
The bonnet didn’t look too bad though. Yes, it was orange peely and yes, there were a couple of small runs but I knew I had plenty of paint so yet another marathon flatting back session commenced while I waited for the primer on the boot lid to dry.
 
Twenty four hours later, the boot lid was flatted back and sprayed with 4 coats of red and I continued to flat back the bonnet while it dried.

​I also machine compounded, polished and waxed the bonnet. It came up reasonably well and whilst saying I was pleased with it would be a massive exaggeration, I don’t completely hate it and it is definitely the best attempt yet.

​So, just a matter of flatting, compounding, polishing and waxing the boot lid, removing the masking from the white stripe, cleaning up the white stripe and putting the car back together again and I’m done. Easy peasy lemon squeezey!
 
To be continued…

​There is something about a fair that turns perfectly normal and sensible adults into 12 year old children again. So you can imagine what it did to our mob who aren’t any of those things. A great time was had by all with many a ride sampled. My favourite was when we all went on the bumper cars and took over the whole ride.

​Rest assured, I did NOT return to the Waltzer. I think I’ve found the maximum level of excitement I can cope with now though.

​Back at the campsite and Lyndsey, Gus’s new GIIIRRRRLLLLLLL FRIEEEEEND was still with us. It turns out that she was spending the night with Gus in Apollo. We were all very conscious that this was a new relationship and wanted the weekend to be a success for Gus and his new GIIIRRRRLLLLLLL FRIEEEEEND.

​Therefore, we had all been very polite, respectful and doing our best to be welcoming and sensible. We even managed to refrain from ribaldry when the new couple announced that they were very tired and headed for an early night. We merely wished them a good night and bid them sleep well – honest! We did!
 
The rest of us continued socialising in the Coleman. About an hour later, a look of evil mischief descended onto Allison’s eyes. “wouldn’t it be hilarious” she said “if we all gathered around Apollo and rocked it vigorously side to side?”
 
Well of course we all thought this was a horrible and mean thing to do to such a nice new couple on their 1st night in Apollo and we tried to talk Allison out of it. However, once Allison has decided to do something, there is no stopping her. The rest of us looked on, shocked and appalled, as Allison soon had the van rocking so hard it almost tipped over. She’s surprisingly strong for such a petite lady. Allison continued the rocking until a loud thunk and a squeal was heard coming from the van. We all ran and hid in the Coleman.
 
We found out the next morning that the “thunk” was a full cup of tea flying off the counter and landing in Lyndsey’s boot. Well Allison, we hope you are ashamed of yourself! You’ve let the group down, you’ve let Tosh down, but most of all you’ve let yourself down.
 
Half an hour later, she did it again. We all looked on shocked and appalled, as Allison soon had the van rocking so hard it almost tipped over – again! Allison only stopped when a loud shout of “YER NOT FUNNY THA KNOWS!!” was heard from Apollo’s depths. We all rushed back into the Coleman where the tomfoolery continued. After some discussion amongst the group it was concluded that maybe Gus was wrong as it was, actually, quite funny.
 
Just in case Allison tries to wriggle out of her guilt and try to implicate others in her dastardly deeds, here is photographic evidence that she was indeed, solely responsible for this heinous act.

​The night was still not over though. At about 12.30 AM, as we were chatting and drinking, a lovely Jack Russell dog came sniffing around under the tent wall before wandering off again. We thought no more of it and assumed she was just out for a walk with her owner we couldn’t see. 10 minutes later, an older chap popped up asking if we had seen a white dog around. We said we had seen her and pointed in the last direction we’d seen the dog heading and thought no more about it. 10 minutes later, an older lady popped up asking if anyone had seen her husband.

​Some of us found this chain of events amusing but immediately felt bad about it as the lady went on to explain that they’d lost their dog who was a 19 year old stone deaf Jack Russell called Tilly. Of course, we couldn’t have that and all agreed to help look. Various light sources were produced, from regular torches to apps on phones to Windy Woodward’s multibillion watt battery powered floodlight. I pointed out that we were trying to find the dog - not burn it to a blackened crisp - but he wasn’t listening.
 
Imagine the scene if you will, as 12 drunken enthusiasts and 2 upset dog owners set off into the vast, pitch dark camping area, shouting for a deaf dog called Tilly at one o’clock in the morning.
 
Tilly was eventually found by Tosh, none the worse for wear and happily sniffing around the bottom field. Tilly was fine too. The trouble was, now we’d lost the owners. So, 12 drunken enthusiasts and a deaf dog called Tilly set off into the vast, pitch dark camping area, shouting for 2 upset dog owners at half past one o’clock in the morning.
 
The owners were eventually rediscovered back at their caravan where they were tearfully contemplating life without their beloved Tilly. So it was fantastic to be able to provide the happy reunion. All 3 were extremely pleased to see each other again and it was a rather emotional scene. Even Tosh was seen to be wiping his eyes.

​Back at the Coleman we toasted our success and felt very proud of our good deed! Tilly was safely back in her caravan and we’d only woken up 80% of the vast camping area to do so. Job done, we went to bed.
 
For some strange reason, Lyndsey, Gus’s GIIIRRRRLLLLLLL FRIEEEEEND departed quite quickly on Sunday morning. I hope we didn’t do anything that upset her. I can’t imagine how we could have done that though. No. I’m sure everything was fine
 
Also, for some strange reason, everyone was just a little sluggish on Sunday morning and even bacon wasn’t showing its full restorative properties. This meant that it was almost 10am and the show about to open before we had finished setting up the stand. A bit of a squeeze today as we were joined by John Malley with his Piper and Two Pants Perman with his Blue VDP Allegro. 

​​I’m sure you’ll agree, looking at the finished scooter below, that Pants Perman did a great job. The scooter was certainly a bit nippier round the field but only time will weather it’s range has been increased at all. It’s got to be better than Nelson’s though!

​Another dry and warm day progressed with much chatting and laughter and walking miles and miles to try to squeeze in everything we hadn’t seen yet. I know I keep saying it but EVERYTHING is at this show including a great, friendly, family atmosphere.

​Here is just a small selection of the things I enjoyed.

​Sadly, the end of the show came round far too quickly and sad goodbyes were said to those traveling home on the Sunday, leaving an intrepid few for the final night. The Allins, Little Paul Cheetham, Gar, Jason and I settled for a very chilled and relaxed evening spent polishing off Phil and Lorraine’s leftover food which was jolly nice with interesting “smoky” notes of flavour showing through.
 
Yes, a very chilled and relaxed evening. Of course, Darren Williamson’s evening was anything but chilled and relaxed. Karen and Carl had abandoned him in the middle of the field and taken the working Ital home. Darren was trying to herd his recovery company into getting his CF back to the chap who rebuilt his engine. Apparently, they didn’t believe Darren when he told them it was beyond roadside repair and needed recovery. They had to send someone out to verify this – from Cardiff!!!
 
Two hours later, the chap arrived, started the engine, turned off the engine and pronounced it “broken”.  “I’ll book a recovery truck" said the chap before abandoning Darren in the field again. 2 hours later and it hadn’t arrived yet so we all went to bed, abandoning Darren in the field.

​We didn’t completely abandon him though. We made little Paul Cheetham stay up with strict instructions to take photos of the recovery for the blog. The gods know what we’ll end up with though. Probably frogs frolicking in a pond or something, certainly not pictures of the recovery if past history is anything to go by!
 
Sorry, I take some of that back! Little Paul has almost redeemed himself it would appear! Not completely though. WHERE’S THE PIC OF THE CF ON THE TRUCK?? Idiot!

​Monday morning and no one was in any rush. We were all pleased to see that Darren and his CF were gone and that we had a message in the group chat to say he had arrived home safely at 1.30AM.
 
Lazy breakfasts were had before we started packing up. The Coleman was first to go and was all packed away properly and it, and everything else, was packed into the tiny Holivan with Tardis-like tendencies.
 
Next it was time to pack Gar’s car. We had the Wolseley trailer and Jaguchair to get into the Zafira and I have to say, we had our doubts. The first problem came when we tried getting the WD8 Generator in. The two bits of old skirting board that Gar insisted made perfect ramps weren’t - they snapped under the weight almost instantly.

Which as it turned out was probably just as well because we’d have only had to get the damn thing back out again. Phil cleverly confirmed what all eyes except Gar’s were telling us. The car, whilst being wide enough to accommodate the trailer, was far too short. There was nothing else for it but to admit defeat. So Gar towed the engine trailer for temporary storage in my lock up. I followed with my caravan in case the engine didn’t tow well. However, this was not necessary as it towed beautifully, but “Gar’s gonna need a bigger car!”
 
Well, that concludes our wonderful ……. No. Wait. News coming in as I write … ”Tuesday Morning rush hour and traffic chaos on the M1”, I’m hearing on the national news. Apparently, some idiot in a yellow MG Midget has broken down in the live lanes in a section with no hard shoulder. Motorway closed while the idiot in the yellow MG Midget is towed by the highways officer the wrong way down the carriageway to the nearby services as unsafe to leave the idiot where he was. Miles-long queues on the motorway causing gridlock in all the local towns.
 
And who was this idiot I hear you ask as if you didn’t already know? Yes, our very own little Paul Cheetham attempting to return the Yellow Peril back to Tosh. And what caused this breakdown? I hear you ask as if you didn’t already know.... yes, he’d run out of petrol!
 
And why didn’t he simply top up from the can in the back, I hear you ask as if you didn’t already know? Yes, he couldn’t get the filler cap off. Talk about history repeating. Does he never learn?
 
I guess we have to make allowances for not being strong enough to get the filler cap off. Little Paul is only 7 stone soaking wet.

Tosh took pity and recovered him with the trailer. Then told EVERYONE!

​Now that really does conclude our weekend adventures. So, massive thanks for the fun, laughs, commitment and achieving downright stupid stupidity levels required to furnish so much material for the blogs.
 
Most of all though, huge thanks to the organisers of the whole event SVTEC and their army of volunteers for putting on yet another fantastic show.
 
They’ve already announced next year’s show date, 31st July to 2nd August 2020. Mark it in your diaries and keep an eye on our events section for details of our stand. (if they let us back in!)

​Thanks for reading and see you again soon. I’ve still got to finish Poppy.

By Mike Peake

​Windy Woodward is an IDIOT! An evil, conniving, nasty, Idiot! Not only that, but he isn’t even nice!
 
OK. So something blogworthy might indeed have happened at the fair. That nasty man Ian made me, MADE me I say, get on the Waltzer! Kicking and screaming, he dragged me into that car! Well – ok – maybe it was Merlot and bravado that made me do it, but I’m pretty sure Windy Woodward had something to do with it. He WAS sat next to me after all.

​I was fine though. Thoroughly loved every minute.

​OK. So maybe I became a little queasy and rather rudely, told the ride man to “go away” when he spun the car faster, but even if I did, no one would have heard over Windy’s evil super villain, uncontrollable laughter. I was absolutely fine as soon as it stopped though. I leapt off the ride as happy as Larry.

​Ok. Maybe “leapt” and “happy as Larry” aren’t strictly accurate descriptions but I was absolutely fine just a couple of minutes later when everything stopped spinning. I certainly wasn’t going to be sick or anything like that.

​Hmmm… Nice to know you can rely on your mates for sympathy and support when you’re poorly sick isn’t it?! Indeed, the “sympathy” is still on going with no evidence of it stopping anytime soon! At least the hysterical laughter from all of my friends drowned out the noises of my discomfort.
 
For some reason, the rest of the evening is a bit of a blur but we were back at the campsite at about 10pm whereupon I took myself off to bed as I was still feeling a little off colour. Ok. Grey. I was grey coloured!
 
Saturday Morning came round quickly and after copious bacon, I was fully revived and we were back over at the group stand setting up for another day. We had 4 extra cars today. 

​In addition to Chris Ball and Phil Allin, we were Joined by Phil Rendle and Scott Morris Simon Wright in their rather fine Morris Minor traveller, a Triumph 2500S Estate and a hooligan Morris Minor.

​Several more waifs and strays joined us through the general public entrances today. My wife Anita, my daughters, Sophie and Emily-Fleur and Emily’s new boyfriend Ryan joined us on the stand. I have to say, I thought it was a brave decision of his to join us and was a little worried about him feeling isolated and left out. I was pleased to see though, that every one of my good mates there made Ryan incredibly welcome by taking him to one side and letting him know that they would be more than happy to give me an alibi or help me hide a body should the need arise. Thanks Chaps. Means a lot to me. I’m tearing up here – sniff - .
 
Anyway, Emily and Ryan weren’t the only new relationship in the group. Gus has got a  ladyyyyy friend!!! “Gus and Lyndsay sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G!” Sorry. That was childish. It was great to meet you Lyndsey. I hope you felt very welcome.
 
Yet another new relationship, Chris Ball’s new lady, Amy. Things got off to a slightly rocky start when she appeared frightened of Bella and Jake, two of the soppiest, friendliest dogs in creation. Things settled back onto an even keel though when it became apparent that Amy was here to choose a classic for Chris to buy for her. I’m sure Tosh can sort out a good Triumph Stag for you Chris! Great to meet you Amy. I hope you enjoyed yourself.
 
Ian and Bernard’s wives, Sarah and Thelma, also joined us, but much later than everyone else. Ian said this was because the broomstick park was a long way away this year. Personally, I thought this was very, very rude of him to say such a thing and couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. Especially as Sarah had just agreed to let Ian buy another car! Oh. Sorry Windy. Perhaps I shouldn’t have written that down? Sarah doesn’t read these does she? I hope I haven’t jeopardised the Rover SD1? (Ha! That’ll teach him for making me go on that Waltzer!)
 
Another day was spent chatting, laughing and ooohing and ahhing at all the exhibits at this fantastic, friendly show until it was time for the classic cars turn around the show ring. Always a great experience this and a chance to show your car off at its best and wave at all the muggles drooling. As always, Apollo was much loved and made a great impression on the commentators.

​What didn’t make such a good impression was the eye-searingly yellow and extremely conspicuous MG Midget breaking down in the middle of the show ring. Amazingly, Super Enthusiast Man didn’t have it running again immediately, requiring the Zephyr to leap into action as a tow car again and bring Gus and the MG back to the campsite. Yet more evidence, if it was needed after the Codgers and Peaks tours, that SEM has lost his MOJO.
 
I have a theory about this lost mechanical mojo. I think it is because – Gus has got a GIIIRRRRLLLLLLL FRIEEEEEND! – and taken his eye off the ball. Back at the campsite, we soon had it narrowed down to dirty points and a swift rub with Allison’s nail file had it running again.

​The same could not be said for the poor Bedford CF though. Thirty miles into its journey Thursday evening, the oil light came on. Darren pulled over immediately and found that all the oil had fallen out of his newly and expensively rebuilt engine. He topped it up but there wasn’t enough juice in the battery to turn it over again, so Darren had it recovered to the show. When fired up Saturday afternoon, it sounded awful and was belching huge clouds of smoke. It was quickly shut down and left for the recovery service to deal with on Sunday. The general theory was that by the time the oil light came on, the oil scraper rings had already burnt out. Fortunately, there is a 3 month warranty on the work so Dazzer was taking it straight back to “have words!”
 
Of course it wouldn’t be a Gloucester Steam Fair unless Tosh did a deal. This year it was more wood from the steam saw mill demonstration area. So yet again the Honda’s tow bar, 5 strapping lads and Paul Cheetham were pressed into service to go and collect. Tosh was busted. Unlike last year, the chap who’d done the deal came back just as we were finishing loading the trailer. Apparently, we had more wood than he anticipated we could take. Tosh had to hand over more money. We could all see his pain.
 
We were further busted by site Security on the way back to the campsite. After a long, high speed chase around the perimeter road, their flashing light-equipped golf buggy pulled us over. We thought they were going to accuse of stealing the wood but no. Apparently the 5 strapping lads and Paul Cheetham weren’t allowed to sit on top of the wood pile on the trailer while it was moving. They had to walk back. It’s a big site too.
 
Once back at the campsite, they made me reverse the trailer back into the tiny space between Kurt’s tent and the BBQ where it had come from. I’m sure they were hoping for a belly laugh as I crushed the tent under tons of wood and trailer. However, the one - and probably only - thing I’m not a bumbling incompetent at, is trailer and caravan manoeuvring. It was done on the 1st attempt with millimetric accuracy. They all looked very disappointed, except Kurt.

​The BBQ was fired up. Mountains of meat were cooked and there was even salad as there were ladies present. The alcohol and chat flowed until it was time to decamp for the fair again.

​As it’s a big site someone, not sure who, thought it would be a jolly wheeze if all of us went up in Apollo. It would be hilarious to watch everyone’s face outside the beer tent as 15 people came out of Apollo’s accommodation door.

​I’d bagged shotgun and watched as Gus selected reverse. We went nowhere! Apparently, 15 people weigh about 1.2 tons altogether and this was just too much for poor Apollo. We were right about one thing though. It was hilarious watching 15 people come out of Apollo’s accommodation door.

We had to walk to the fair.

​To Be continued…

By Mike Peake

​​For the 3rd year running, our group had a stand at this truly huge and fantastic vintage fair and oh my, did we have some fun this year. If I included all the material I have for this weekend, I would still be writing this when we turn up next year. Oh Yes, there will be a next year. (Well, if they let us back there will).
 
So, where to start? Well let’s start on Thursday evening and introduce you to the intrepid, first-to-arrive campers.
 
As always, the Brooks family were there to support the group. This time, with Apollo the P5B camper van that we all know and love. The Brooks Family this time consisted of Tosh and Allison, Bella and Jake, Gus, Gus’s daughter Julie, her husband Kurt and son Seth.

Gus had also completed work on our scumbag project Wolseley WD8 stationary engine/generator.

​Young Paul Cheetham arrived in Tosh’s MG Midget.

​Irritatingly, Tosh has re-sprayed both these vehicles and renovated a house in the time it has taken me to mess up Poppy, who won’t be joining us yet again because I can’t get painting right.
 
Also present were Windy and Breezy Woodward and Bernard Owen with the Zephyr and Maxi.

​Jason Wright and Watson had joined us too, but had forgotten his Herald due to welding and painting issues.

​So it was just Old Mother Cole and the Williamsons to arrive on the Thursday evening. No disrespect to the Williamsons, but Gar Coles arrival was most keenly anticipated as he had promised to open “Old Mother Cole’s kitchen” and feed us all chicken and bacon stew.

​Imagine our horror then, when we received a text message saying that he wasn’t coming on Thursday because he had driven his modern through a river and burnt out his coil pack! Shouts of outrage abounded and many an abusive text was sent as we sat in our field, miserable and starving to death. We did manage to scrounge up a pack of digestives but competition for them was fierce.

​​Not long after, but just as the hunger pangs were truly starting to bite, the group chat received another message, this time from Team Williamson.  

The Bedford CF had broken down too. Were they going to be pathetic wusses about it and go home? Were they heck! No. They called recovery and came on towards us anyway. See, Gar? Some people don’t let their mates down.
 
We cheered up somewhat on learning that Kaz, Daz and Carl were on their way. Maybe, just maybe, they’d have another packet of biscuits.

​We whiled away the hours until they were due to arrive, chatting drinking and playing “I Spy”, although we abandoned the game after the 25th outing of “F” for food.
 

​We abandoned the CF near our pitch and all went to bed in the hope that sleep would overcome the starvation stomach cramps.
 
Friday morning dawned to the smell of bacon frying. Obviously we couldn’t have done this last night as we were too focused on the fact that Old Mother Cole” had let us down so badly and obviously bacon is for breakfast not dinner. Funnily enough, Gar arrived just as the bacon was ready. He’d stolen a coil pack from his neighbours Corsa. I’m not sure why he couldn’t have done that last night and rescued us all from starvation? No consideration I guess.
 
Our bodies revived by the miracle that is bacon, we set off over to our group stand and soon had it all set up and ready for the 1st day of the show.

​Friday is always the chilled day of the 3 show days as a lot of exhibitors and visitors are still at work. So a pleasant day was passed listening to the soporific chuff puff of the Wolseley as this mid-20th century  technology kept our 21st century phones and Gar’s Jaguchair alive, interspersed with the odd wander around the massive show ground.

Yes Lorraine. Bet you feel Silly now!

​After a very pleasant day in the sun, it was back to the campsite. During the day we were joined by some more intrepid campers in the form of our group sponsor and top chap Phil Allin of Alvaston Press and his lovely family with Big Rov the stately P5B Coupe and Chris Ball in his Johnny Cash “one piece at a time” MK1/2/3/4/5/6 MGB Roadster.

​It was time to settle around the Coleman and FINALLY enjoy Old Mother Cole’s chicken and bacon stew. It was delicious, filling and lovely. I’m sure it would have been even better last night but it was lovely all the same. Thank you Gar.
 
As we were settling down with our stew, Phil grumpily went back to his caravan to get a bowl and eating irons as Lorraine had only bought for herself. Whilst Phil was gone Lorraine admitted that this was a deliberate omission as Phil is quite fat enough already.
 
Two minutes later, we heard a call from Phil saying “Errr, my caravan is full of black acrid smoke” but as we were only on our 2nd or 3rd spoonful of stew, we merely gave each other raised eyebrow looks that said “mmmm, that’s odd? This stew is really delicious. We’ll investigate when we’ve finished.”
 
After another couple of minutes had passed, we heard Phil’s voice again, this time with a slight note of panic in it. “Actually chaps! My caravan is on fire! There’s proper flames and everything!”
 
This spurred us all into action. Well, after we’d calmly placed our almost full bowls of stew carefully and securely in various safe places, this spurred us into action. You’ve never seen five fatblokes move so fast as we heroically rushed back to our respective vans to collect various fire fighting equipment. I got a fire blanket and a camera.
 
Tosh was 1st to arrive, leaping dramatically through the door whilst ripping the pin from his fire extinguisher in a very manly manner. Letting rip in all and every direction, he quickly covered the entire caravan and Phil (who was in there frantically turning off gas and electric) in white powder.
 
Phil, looking very much like a snowman and wiping powder from his eyes, said “It’s the fridge Tosh. The fire is behind the fridge. You just need to squirt through the vent!”. “Oh” said Tosh, before sheepishly leaping back out the door and giving another good squirt of powder through the vents.*
 
My contribution was to make sure I had plenty of photos for the blog.

​Once the fire was out,  our band of heroes returned to their stew where we found Lorraine, still in her deckchair, calmly eating her stew with a knowing smile on her face. The lengths some people will go to, to get a new caravan!
 
Once the stew was consumed, Old Mother Cole served up a delicious pudding of meringues, chocolate rolls and evaporated milk. I love evaporated milk! It brings back loads of happy memories of childhood camping and parties. I had rather a lot and all washed down with Merlot.
 
Once tea was complete and washing up done, the contents of Phil and Lorraine’s fridge re-distributed and the fridge deposited unceremoniously in the skip, we decamped for the wonderful vintage steam fair where we all had lots of fun but absolutely nothing blogworthy happened. Nope. Nothing at all. Nothing to see here people. Please return to your normal humdrum lives. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing at all. **
 
Oh OK. Maybe, just maybe, something blogworthy happened. Not saying it did, but if anything were to have happened, you’re going to have to wait for part 2 to read about it.
 
To be continued …
 
 
* Actual events may have been changed slightly for literary convenience.
 
** Actual events may have been changed slightly for literary convenience.

By Mike Peake.

​As you may have already read, our recent tour of the Cotswolds and North Wiltshire took us through my home town of Royal Wootton Bassett.
 
As we were so close, I thought I would show the gang the unfinished results of all my hard work on Poppy. So we all piled into my street and parked up. Everyone gathered round the entrance to my tent ready for the grand reveal. I opened the zip, pulled back the doors and waited for the reaction.
 
It appears that everyone has learned the lesson that if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing. The silence was deafening, eventually broken by Gar saying “it’s a great tent isn’t it? Really sturdy.” I’m pretty sure I could hear them all thinking the same thing. “Yep! That’s what happens when a bumbling incompetent fool sprays a car!”
 
I can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed by the reaction, but after a good look over the car, Paint Guru Tosh took me to one side and ignoring my trembling bottom lip, said “Its ok. Its saveable that is”, before offering lots of practical advice on how to do so and telling me where I’d gone wrong in such a kindly way that I didn’t blub like a baby. 

​So, yet again, my report card read “could do better” and I had a lot more work to do than just spray the boot lid red, finish flatting back the car, flat back the boot lid, compound polish and wax the whole car, put the light lenses and front grill through the dishwasher, wash and polish all the chrome trim on the polishing wheels and then put it all back onto Poppy. I had a lot more work to do before I could even begin that.
 
I have to admit, I was starting to consider the benefits of vinyl wrap. However, I soon put this blasphemy out of my mind and cracked on. Well I tried, but the week’s holiday I had after the tour was a failure because I’d developed a problem with my good knee and was in too much pain to work on the car. After several visits to the doctors and hospital, I received a diagnosis. Apparently, I’m old and fat. Who knew? Emily Fleur took pity on her old Dad and flatted back those difficult-to-reach lower parts of the car.

​Anyway, I did manage to rub down some of the areas with the worst sanding marks. The ones on the bonnet stood out like the proverbial in a punch bowl now they were red. Then Anita masked the car up again and I was ready to re-spray the rubbed down areas with even more high build primer. The trouble was, we forgot to tell the weather that it was JUNE for the gods’ sake! Three weeks of torrential rain and temperatures constantly below 14°C prevented me getting my spray gun out.
 
Saturday 22nd June. It wasn’t raining. It was 18˚C. Amazingly, weather I could spray in. So the bonnet and the 2 other patches were quickly covered in 2 coats of high build primer and left to dry overnight. Sunday had me flatting the primer back and in true bumbling incompetent style, I also had to flat back the over-spray on the wings and doors which I had deemed too far away to need masking. I was wrong. Then the weather closed in again.
 
Poppy missed another group tour to the northern Peak District. I missed her terribly especially as the EVIL ONE took an instant dislike to me and tried to kill Tosh and I repeatedly. 

​The weekend after the Peaks tour I managed to get a coat of red on the whole car. Looking back on my earlier coats of red, I realised that I had used much too high a pressure and most of my paint was lost to the environment and what was on the car, Tosh had told me had gone on too dry. I think I over compensated. So instead of getting 2 or 3 coats on, I had to wait for the 1 coat to dry so I could rub back all the runs and a dead spider. 

​A week later I managed to get another 2 coats on the whole car without too many bad runs except on the bonnet! Some really bad ones here and as it’s the bonnet I couldn’t leave them. It looked awful. Can you tell I’m getting a bit fed up with it now?
 
So, the bonnet was flatted back yet again down to primer in some places. As the bonnet has given me problems with runs at every stage but the sides of the car haven’t been too bad, I decided that the next coats will be sprayed with the bonnet open. 

​The weather intervened yet again but not how you would expect. It was actually too HOT! Yes too hot. Met Office had forecast 30˚C plus and for once they were right. 23rd to 26th July it was 39˚C in my tent when I got home from work. Not at all pleasant for a Fatbloke to work in.

​Also, I’m guessing it would mean that the paint would be dry before it hit the car, or flash off too quickly when it hit the hot metal. Well, that’s the excuse I used to sit in the garden with a G&T instead and panic at how quickly the date for the Gloucester Steam Fair was coming around. Poppy has missed out on 3 great tours this year and I really don’t want her missing out on that too. What has really got me fed up though, is that Tosh Brooks has just turned Apollo - a P5 motor home - round and got the Rover bit fully painted in about a week! I’ve been at this since April!! Blooming  show off. I’ve gone right off him.

The weekend before the steam fair arrived and I was determined to get it all done. So bright and early I was out with my spray gun and having another go at the bonnet. As I said earlier, I tried spaying the bonnet with it open to avoid the runs I’d had on earlier attempts. It didn’t work, I got the biggest horiblest run ever in the history of car paint runs and really horrendous orange peel. I wasn’t best pleased as it was worse than my last attempt that I’d just rubbed back!
 
While I was waiting for the bonnet to fully dry, I decided that I would start the flatting process at the back of the car. To be honest, I was really fed up with the whole thing and the thought of flatting back the whole car again wasn’t filling me with a feeling of joy or enthusiasm. Therefore, I decided to do baby steps and do the complete flatting, compounding, polish and wax process on one panel at a time. This way, I would start to have finished panels and this may boost my enthusiasm. 

​This method was working, somewhat, right up until the moment I decided to move the car to make room to spray the boot lid. At this point it became apparent that I had a flat battery. So, my new, super-duper 4000amp jump leads were employed. At this point it became apparent that my fuel pump had packed up again and all the fluid had vanished from my clutch. I blubbed and called it a day. Over a pint of G&T and through teary eyes, I withdrew Poppy from the Gloucester Steam Extravaganza line up.
 
Sunday morning; I was out in my tent to see if I could rectify the mess I’d made of the bonnet… again. I’d been out to buy a couple of nib files and attacked the run. It actually worked quite well and by the time I’d finished with the files and flatted back with wet 1200, the surface actually felt really smooth. You could still see the difference in the paint though. However, I pressed on with trying to flat the orange peel out of the rest of the bonnet with wet 1200 grit and machine compounding. It didn’t work! Even after hours of effort, it still looked pants. So I gave up. The bonnet is the largest panel on the car and the focal point for anyone looking at it. It had to be right. I decided to flat back with 800 grit and give it another couple of coats. (YES AGAIN! No! I don’t know which attempt this is. I’ve lost count. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!) I needed to buy yet more paint first though.
 
I was getting close to giving it all up and was desperate for some cheer-me-up work. So, I decided to start putting the back of the car together.
 
I started by polishing my over riders on the special polishing wheel I’d invented. 

​I wasn’t hopeful as most of the chrome was a dull grey but I gave it a go anyway. I was right not to have high hopes as I ended up with clean dull grey rear over riders.  I really need new ones but at nearly £200 for the pair, I’ll put up with these ones for now and change them at a later date. It’s only 2 bolts on each. Oh and the removal of the fuel tank to get to them.
 
Next job was to fit my brand new rear rubber bumpers. I wasn’t looking forward to this bit as all the stories on the internet suggested it was a real horror involving boiling water and KY Jelly. For once though, this wasn’t the case. They went on quite easily with only minor blood loss once smeared liberally in the KY Jelly. In fact, the worst part of the job was the embarrassment of asking for KY Jelly in the chemist. Not for me of course. There was no way I was subjecting myself to that level embarrassment. I made Anita get it for me. After that it was just a matter of bolting on the over riders and fitting and wiring in the rear light clusters. It all went very well until I couldn’t find 2 of the 4 screws that hold the light clusters on. I ordered 4 shiny new ones from Canley Classics.

​The back end is starting to come together and I’m almost pleased with it. Well, almost pleased enough to enthuse me to carry on anyway.
 
To be continued…

By Mike Peake

​Lunch in the Fleece was excellent, and a chance to ooh and ahh over the fantastic roads and incredible scenery that Phil had found for us. Tosh also decided that enough was enough and was going to take the Sunbeam back to the campsite by the most direct and least hilly route possible and would hopefully see us there. The brotherhood bond Tosh and I had formed in the face of death that morning was only so strong, so I wished him luck and jumped into Brian’s Triumph. As Tosh turned left out of the pub, Phil was heard to mutter “but we’re taking the most direct route back and the whole area is very hilly. It’s the Peak district.” “and why is he turning left?”
 
The rest of us mounted up for our next stage and the long climb up to Holme Moss for an ice cream. This leg was surprisingly uneventful in terms of drama and trauma but the scenery was beautiful and the road fantastic. Brian was keeping me entertained with tales of his youth spent in this area. Tales like “Eeeee, when I were t’ lad, all this was completely flat. God hadn’t got around to making it yet.” And “I survived the Great Flood by climbing up Holme Moss and sitting it out. It was actually here where Noah came ashore and I was able to meet him off the boat. His wife was something I can tell you!”

​As we all pulled into the busy Holme Moss car park, the views took our breath away. What an incredible place. It didn’t stop us mobbing the ice cream van though as everyone knows, the view is always better when you’re licking a 99.

As I’ve said, the views were stunning. However Shiny Paul Shiny was most perturbed. Firstly, the “viewing frame” left there for tourists to take pictures through wasn’t shiny enough so he spent an hour polishing it. Then he realised that a young family, with their picnic all laid out on a blanket would be in his picture if he took it through the now shiny frame. Now most people would have tried to angle the camera to try not to get them in or just taken the photo with them in it. It’s not as if they were ugly or anything. But no. This wasn’t good enough for Shiny Paul Shiny. Apparently, they weren’t shiny enough. Bold as brass, he went over and asked them to move. Amazingly, instead of telling him where to go before inserting the “frame” where it would cause maximum discomfort, they actually apologised and moved! Shiny Paul Shiny got his photo.

​Not long after this, we were all rather surprised to see a rather dishevelled, frazzled, harassed, and frustrated Tosh pulling into the car park muttering “Apparently, this is the most direct route back and the whole area is very hilly. It’s the Peak District.” He then got out, slammed the door and went full “Basil Fawlty” on the Sunbeam.

​After we calmed him down with a 99 he decided that he would abandon the Sunbeam where it was and recover later with the trailer. The Sunbeam and Tosh had clearly fallen out. Eric on the other hand wouldn’t hear of abandoning the car in such an unsecured manner and insisted on staying there and acting as body guard.
 
The next leg was the home stretch. I was in my favourite non-Herald Triumph with Brian, Young Paul Cheetham was with Kurt in the only functioning Brooks car left, the Rover P6. Tosh, not content to have escaped the evil clutches of the Sunbeam unscathed, decided to take his life in his hands again by getting into the Metro with Lincoln.
 
It became apparent that Phil was now of the mind-set that he had put a lot of work, time and effort into the tour notes and he was going to make us read the bloody things if it killed him. So he set off at warp speed in Big Rov. Not to be out-done and determined NOT to read the tour notes, most of the tourists tried to keep up. Nick and Jo obviously had no trouble holding pace in the 7.2l Jensen and were vastly entertained by the antics of Lincoln’s Metro with two great big fatblokes in it as it bounced all over the road and did it’s very best to remain mostly airborne. Bit of a hooligan is our Lincoln.
 
Brian and I had a more relaxed drive back enjoying the views and the car while Brian continued to regale me with tales of his youth back at the dawn of time.

​We arrived back at the campsite after an eventful, and now I am not staring death in the face, I’d even go so far as to say enjoyable day.
 
We were greeted by a very smug and proud looking Graham who was telling everyone who stood still for more than a nano second that it was “years and years since I’ve towed anything with a rope and look, we made it back here all safe and sound!” he didn’t stop smiling. The smoke and occasional flame still rising from Henry’s brakes and a trembling Gus sat curled up and gibbering in the corner of the Coleman shelter, provided all the proof needed that it had indeed, been “Years and years” since Graham had towed anything with a rope.

​There was no time for me to rest or take the micky out of Gus for having to suffer the indignity of being towed back to the campsite. No. Apparently it was far too time-consuming for Tosh to pack up the camper to take the trailer, and my Honda was the only other tow bar equipped modern there. The trailer was hooked up and Gus and I were despatched back to Holme Moss to recover “THE EVIL ONE”. Tosh shouted “you don’t need me do you?” as he sat down, opened one of Nick’s beers and waved us off.
 
We were soon done though. 30 minutes to drive there, 20 to load up “THE EVIL ONE” and another 30 minute drive back to the campsite with Eric, “THE EVIL ONE’s” bodyguard, trying to keep up.

​Meanwhile, back at the campsite, in an effort to give credence to his excuse that “overheating” was causing him to drive his Jensen like he stole it, Nick had the bonnet up and was moving his hands around pretending to “fix it”.

​He “claims” that he traced the source of his “overheating” to one of the fans not operating. He went on to “claim” that he traced the source of the non-functioning fan to a dodgy connection which he “fixed” by tightening up the crimps. His most ludicrous claim of all though was that he did this all by himself with no one helping at all.

​As no one has ever seen Nick with anything other than beer in his hand and certainly never “tools” I really don’t think this tale has any credibility at all and Nick just likes driving like a hooligan. There aren’t even any photos of him pretending to do this! So, next time Nick, photos or it didn’t happen.

​Not long after Gus, Eric and I returned with “THE EVIL ONE”, Gar Cole arrived in his rather splendid Mk1 Mondeo. After spending time oohing and aaahhing over the new addition to Gar’s fleet, it became apparent that, to our utter dismay, Old Mother Cole’s restaurant wasn’t going to open. What were us starving waifs to do to stop us fading away with hunger? Well, we went to the pub just 200 yards away.
 
Having enjoyed one of the driest warmest sunniest days for forever, not 30 minutes after Gar arrived, guess what? Yes, it started to rain!! Proof positive that Gar is THE RAIN MAN!!

​A pleasant evening of chat, good food, ale and laughter ensued before we headed back to the campsite to continue the party. However, all the near-death experiences of the day had taken it out of me and I headed for an early night at about 11pm. Phil also announced the intention of an early night but managed to get a bit delayed. Thus proving that Phil is the bad influence and not me.
 
Sunday morning and I was up early (Phil wasn’t) for bacon and to put my tent away. We said goodbye to several tourists but Phil had planned a trip to the Kelham Island Museum which is home to the River Don Steam engine, one of the most powerful steam engines ever made. Those of us remaining set off for Sheffield. I was riding shotgun in John Dickson’s rather lovely Austin A55 Cambridge and Shiny Paul was in Henry. Gus had got him running again overnight.

​All was fine and uneventful until we reached the busiest roundabout in the centre of Sheffield when Henry choose that very moment to break down yet again. Shiny Paul and I pushed Henry off the roundabout and into the side street. The trouble was, Henry is so light that we ended up pushing him at bit of a run, which as you can imagine was quite distressing for me and several bystanders.

SEM was still a no-show and Gus failed miserably in his attempts to revive Henry. Phil was keen to get to the museum so as not to miss the steam engine running and said “We’re only 100 yards or so from the museum, lets push Henry there” before quickly jumping into Big Rov and rushing away. This left Just Shiny Paul and I to push Henry.

​Shiny Paul soon had the car to the speed of a fast Jog. I did a bit of a “Dad Run” to show willing but decided that Shiny Paul had it handled so jumped into the Mondeo’s passenger seat. I have to say, I’m quite glad I did as Phil’s “100 yards or so” turned out to be at least ¾ of a mile and Shiny Paul looked a little more shiny with sweat and was blowing quite heavily at the end. We’d all made it though and went for a potter about in the museum.
  
Kelham Island Museum is a fantastic place and absolutely worth the visit. I won’t go into details as the blog is already quite long enough and if Windy Woodward still reads these on the toilet, he’ll be giving himself piles by now. All the details can be found here on the Museum’s website. As I say, well worth the visit. I will leave you with some photos and a short video of the River Don engine running. 

​A word of caution. If Shiny Paul Shiny had brought his shiny MGB GT, he would have died in shock. All the cars were covered in a measles rash of tiny oil droplets from the running engine. Worth it though

​Gus finally got Henry running again, sort of, and we said our goodbyes and all headed our own way home.
 
So it just remains to thank Phil and Loraine Allin for all their hard work in putting such a great weekend together and to thank my fellow tourists for the laughs, fun, entertainment, friendship and blog material!! Above all though, thanks to Tosh Brooks for keeping “THE EVIL ONE” mostly under control and keeping me not dead.

​If you want to follow in our footsteps, Phil’s beautifully created tour notes can be read or downloaded below.
 
Thanks for reading and see you at the next one.

By Mike Peake.

​Now that you know everybody, it is time to regale you with tales of our day.
 
I’d blagged a seat in Tosh’s beautiful and innocent looking Sunbeam Talbot, the perfect car for a hot sunny day’s touring. Or so we thought. Young Paul Cheetham was in Henry and Shiny Paul Shiny was in Richie’s Mk2 Escort. Already a very shiny and lovely car, but Shiny Paul was up all night making it even shinier before he agreed to be seen in it.
 
Graham had positioned himself perfectly to video us all leaving the campsite. Unfortunately, we can’t show you the video. Let’s just say that Graham’s grasp of technology isn’t up to scratch. However,  I’ll let him tell you in his own words why you are not watching a lovely video of all the lovely classic cars leaving the lovely campsite.

See what I mean about his grasp of tech? Let’s give him a break though. After all, his Rover had tried to run him over again this morning.
 
Apart from Graham’s “technical hitch” the tour actually started out surprisingly well. Clearly, everyone had read at least the 1st line of the tour notes and just for a change, we all managed to actually turn right out of the campsite to drive down a lovely if extremely narrow lane. The Bentley and the Jensen only just fitted but it gave us all a chance to chat to the dog walkers and cyclists we passed trying to go the other way.
 
As I said, it was all going perfectly and continued to do so right up to the second junction we came to. This junction turned out to be a bit of a tricky Johnnie. You see, we had to turn left onto the main road and then immediately right into another country lane. 3 or 4 of us made the turn but then it all went wrong. Mick and Gill missed the immediate right turn even though Eric was sat at the junction waiting for them. The rest of the convoy blindly followed Mick’s Victor the wrong way.
 
I put forward the theory that far from doing his taxi duties as claimed, Gar - in an effort to distract from his embarrassing shenanigans on the last tour - was in fact in the area and trying to sabotage us by turning signs around and disguising junctions with Wile-E-Coyote painted scenery cloths. However, as it wasn’t raining, my theory was quickly dismissed and try as I might, I couldn’t blame Gar for this one.
 
Blocking the country lane completely, the small remaining convoy waited while Phil frantically tried contacting the others by phone, text, messenger, video chat, carrier pigeon and smoke signals. He successfully managed to get in touch with all except Mick and Gill and our red-faced fellow tourists corrected their course and one by one caught us up. As Mick and Gill were maintaining radio silence, we all decided to press on.

Tosh and I had been loving our drive in the Sunbeam so far. With its low sides and open top, the feeling of freedom, the wind in our hair and the panoramic views was just perfection. However, during this leg, the Sunbeam’s mood changed significantly and she started trying to kill us. It wasn’t just Graham's Rover with murderous intent now.

​The Sunbeam has rod-operated brakes and for some reason they decided to apply the brakes on the right side much sooner than the left, resulting in a severe and dramatic lurch toward the middle of the road every time Tosh applied them. This was somewhat disconcerting to both of us and to Nick and Jo who were following. The extreme hills in the Peak District did nothing to alleviate our peril either. However, we made it to the 1st official stop at Stanage Edge Long Causeway car park, where sausage plait and veggy plait - especially for Lorraine who doesn’t like sausage - was served. 

Phil finally got a hold of Mick and Gill who were still MIA. They had managed to find their way to our next official stop at Langsett Reservoir car park and would wait for us there. Chats had, photos taken, view and snacks enjoyed, it was time to set off again for the next leg. Tosh and I gingerly seated ourselves back in the Sunbeam and after a quick prayer to the automotive gods, we set off.
​
Not only was the Sunbeam growing ever more determined to kill us, its plucky little 1150cc engine was starting to struggle to haul herself, a fatbloke and an even fatter bloke up some of the steeper uphill sections and understandably Tosh was taking the downhill sections quite slowly too. This caused Nick and Jo in their 7.2 litre Jensen to get a bit bored and as soon as they could, they blazed past us leaving us choking in the cloud of unburned hydrocarbons and road dust. Nick later tried to claim that this rudeness was due to the Jensen overheating at such slow speeds.

​It was shortly after Nick’s irresponsible overtake that the Sunbeam pulled out all the stops in her efforts to end our lives. After a loud clunk, Tosh’s foot went to the floor as we were approaching a tight left hand bend on a downhill section. I have no idea how Tosh managed to get us round that bend as I had my eyes tightly shut and was screaming like a girl. The trouble was, so did Tosh. We made it though and proceeded even more cautiously using engine braking and what was left of the brakes. The good news though, we weren’t veering sharply into the middle of the road anymore. Our slow pace meant we got a bit left behind. I politely declined Tosh’s kind offer to drive the Sunbeam as he seemed to be having so much fun and concentrated on reading the excellent tour notes to ensure we got to our next official stop where we vowed to make Super Enthusiast Man (Gus) sort things out!
 
After we lead our short 3-car convoy into the Langsett Reservoir car park and had our various fingers prised off the steering wheel and the passenger’s “OMG I’M GOING TO DIE” handle, we discovered to our dismay, that Super Enthusiast Man wasn’t there.

​Henry was having some serious ignition woes and had broken down en route. The trouble was SEM wasn’t there either, so Gus was having to try and sort it out himself. (My money is on both the condenser in the distributor and the spare being duff but bearing in mind I’m a bumbling incompetent fool and Gus isn’t, I wasn’t brave enough to tell him my opinion.) After a considerable amount of fettling, it was apparent that Henry wasn’t going to return to road under his own steam, It was decided that Graham would tow Gus back to the campsite on a rope.

Next was a short hop to the Fleece pub where Phil had booked lunch for us all, and let them know we were running a bit late. Minus our casualties and after Tosh and I had stopped trembling, we set off. Tosh had recommended that I get a safer ride in another car, but when two chaps face death together that many times, a bond forms and I couldn’t let my brother face the danger alone. That and it was only a short trip, so I climbed in and resumed my fierce grip on the handle.
 
The trip was almost uneventful. Uneventful that is until the clutch went too and we could no longer engage low gears quickly enough for engine braking. Only the gods know how we made it to the pub with our lives and the Sunbeam’s paintwork intact, but we did. In fact, we were even in time to partake in a couple of stiff medicinals to calm our nerves before a jolly nice lunch was served.
 
To be continued…

By Mike Peake

Even though the weather and dodgy knees meant that Poppy was still out of action, our return to the Peak district was very much looked forward to. Phil Allin had done such a great job for our visit here last year and made such a fuss that he had barely touched the surface of the great roads available, that we made him do it again.
 
Whilst obviously disappointed in not taking Poppy, I have to say I didn’t miss the game of Tetris that is always required when packing all the camping gear into her diminutive frame. The CR-V swallowed it all with ease and space to spare. However, 5 hours in the office had to be endured before I could escape north.
 
1PM finally arrived. Gladys the satnav was now telling me it would be a 4 hour trip along the A429, A46, M69 and M1 instead of the 3 hour trip on the M5, M42, M1 it was telling me we would take earlier in the week. Apparently Friday traffic meant this route would take 5 hours. I didn’t care though. I was in the mile-munching air-conditioned comfort of my CR-V with the absolute certainty of arriving on site with absolutely nothing blog-worthy to report. Which I did at 17.05. Exactly when Gladys said I would. Oh the dull predictability of modern motoring eh? Wonderful isn’t it?

Many of the crew were already there. The Coleman shelter already erected and full of crew members and Gus and Tosh were fiddling with the brakes and engine on the Talbot. Apparently, it needed new spark plugs as the engine was running roughly so Tosh was dispatched to find them. A forlorn hope we all thought. However, just down the road was one of those blasts from the past petrol stations that was also a proper old school garage with none of this self-serve nonsense. So Tosh showed him the duff spark plug. After quite a while rummaging in shelves of old boxes, a pleased shout was heard and the proprietor returned with a set of matching plugs. Not only that but when price was discussed, the chap in greasy overalls replied, “Well, when I put them in the box, they probably cost me a quid each so how does that sound?” Well of course, this was music to a Yorkshire man’s ears and the deal was done and the Talbot’s engine was running smoothly… and innocently…

Such good service deserves a shout out so if your in the area, this chap is brilliant.

I wasted no time at all in pitching my traveling gentlemen’s abode that was to be my home for the weekend. Yes, it is still the same tent I’d used in Snowdon as the people that weren’t in Boston or Somerset needed assuring. Although I did need to borrow some pegs from the Allins after I’d bent all mine on the stony Somerset soil the last time I’d used it. I could have taken the caravan as I was in the CRV, however, I still hadn’t sorted out the road electrics after the Cotswold tour.

My "friends" put my tent up for me in Snowdon as I was arriving late (picture on the left). How it should look in the Peaks when I put it up. So, never let "Mates" put your tent up!

​Home for the weekend was now sorted so I cadged a cold one from Phil (thanks Phil) and joined everyone gathered around the BBQ. An evening of serious cake and alcohol consumption ensued along with much jollity and laughter and getting to know some new faces.

Nooooooooooo,,, Please don't do the Full Monty! Please!

​It was all going so well until Phil bought out a bottle of Red Stag which was surprisingly nice and went down far too easily. Our uncouth Yorkshiremen caused utter outrage by mixing it with coke, but what can you say apart from “Tha’s from t’Yorkshire tha knows”?
 
It all got a bit blurry after this but I’m pretty sure we were all returned to the comfort or otherwise of our beds by about 2 AM.
 
Next morning, everyone was up and about and all bright and breezy without a hint of a hangover on anyone. Well, after a truckload of bacon was consumed  there wasn’t a hint of a hangover on anyone.
 
Phil handed out the rather fine tour notes and even finer tour plaque to everyone and we were ready for the off. Well almost. We had to wait for Phil’s Dad to return from the toilet block.

​So while we wait, let me introduce you to the cars on tour.
 
Mick and Gill Taylor and Lexy the big soppy German Shepherd actually came back after the Cotswolds so they must have enjoyed themselves and hadn’t been scared away. Mick bought a different Vauxhall Victor, unrestored and gorgeous (the Victor, Not Mick!)

​The ever up for a laugh and a tour Brooks brothers were there of course. Tosh in the deceptively innocent  and lovely looking Sunbeam Talbot and Gus in the ridiculously fun Henry.

​Kurt and Lee had blagged Tosh’s Rover P6 2000.

​Phil, Lorrain and Lucas Allin with Big Rov and Phil’s Dad.

​Nick Arthur and Jo Tait with the thundering Jensen Interceptor.

​Old Father Time AKA Brian Allison. Brian is current custodian of my Triumph 2000, He’s leaving it to me in his will. It can’t be long now. I mean, even God isn’t as old as Brian. (Edit: Nooooooo! He’s selling my inheritance!)

​Keith McGovern and Mette Cooper were also new faces to touring with the group. Keith has been very active on the Facebook page but hasn’t joined us in the real world before. However, he was so keen to join us that he even went out to buy a car just so he would have an excuse. A lovely patinated Hillman Minx was purchased for this event.

​Our ever-present mad Scotsman Eric Dalton Joined us in his Rover VDP having rolled it all the way down from deepest darkest Scotlandshire to save on petrol (It is all downhill you know. Look at a globe if you don’t believe me.)

​Being fairly local to them, our resident aging hippies joined us again and it was good to see them. Richie Moore surprised us by not bringing his gloriously crusty Mk1 Granada but turned out in a rather lovely Mk 2 Ford Escort Ghia. Lefty Wright was in his very well-travelled LHD German spec Mk 2, 2 door Granada, in that well known Ford colour “Eye-searing Yellow”. Top notch car.

​Lincoln Hunt with his very bouncy Metro.

Possibly the most luxurious car to attend a tour. Ever. Chris and Ann Howarth in THE BENTLEY. (That's MY inheritance - Ed)

John Dickson's Stunning Austin A55 Cambridge

Steve and Jane Hancock in their beautiful Opel Manta.

Finally, Graham Adams and Sue Clamp in the very very late 1999 Rover 75 that seems to really, really hate Graham. It tried to kill him yet again.

Shiny Paul Clappison refused to bring his shiny MGB GT on the grounds it might get less shiny, Young Paul Cheetham forgot his car altogether and Poppy is undergoing works so the 3 of us planned to car hop.


​To be continued...