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Tuesday, 20 March 2018

BOL 715...

I had a car, I loved that car.
Like a demanding lover it caused me pain and lots of pounds.
For some unknown reason I had always wanted an Austin Seven, when my father died my prediction to him as an only child that I would spend his money indiscriminately came to pass, well it certainly did with that bloody car.
Together with the two brothers who were going to renovate the car we found a suitable candidate which the owner had been working on over many years.  They gave it the once over and said it was good to go!
Famous last words!
Cash was handed over and little did I know then it was the start of an avalanche of notes to leave my account.

It turned out that the old boy had made a superb Heath Robinson cackhanded attempt at renovation... I use the term loosely.  Old bits of carpet and 
tin signs were discovered along the stripping back.
Over the months they worked on it,
slowly the ugly duckling turned into a British Racing green swan.
All the while costing a fortune.
The day arrived when it was ready for its first outing to a rally.
Full of hope and a tad of puffed up pride we set off.  The lads as outriders were following discreetly behind.  Only in case of any ‘minor’ mishaps you understand?
Along the A64 in York we trundled, content all was well.  And it was until a crunching and the sight of a wheel bowling along in front of me!

In their rush to finish for the rally they had forgotten to tighten the wheel nuts.
I should have known then the whole bloody project was doomed!



This isn’t it.  No pictorial record was kept of the money pit!


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