More on the MGB

As I write I am waiting for a pile of bits to arrive from all points of the compass. Each step I take reveals another little poo trap for the unwary. I am, however, becoming a better mechanic and a seriously good contortionist. Most of the electrics seem to be fixed and I found all of the tubing for the washers hiding up under the dashboard; all it needs now is a new pump and who knows they may work. The transmission mount will be next followed by the propshaft. I took the muffler system off the other day; in reality it was more like a long length of rusty drain pipe with random welds scattered up and down it. With a nice plinth I could probably have sold it as public art. An allegorical piece depicting the decay of modern society against the backdrop of the pervading influence of the automobile and the illusion that material objects are not transformed by the passage of the ages. By the time I am finished the only mechanical bits I will not have touched will be the engine and gearbox and the rear suspension. I feel queasy writing that as you know how it is "there is no way England can loose this match" just 30 secs before the Germans whack in 2 goals. Still I remain optimistic that the beast will be on the road before too long. I am also aware that the November rain is not that far away and the idea of driving with the top down in my speedos does not appeal to me, or I suspect to anyone else.

The saga continues

If my MGB was a person I would be seriousley worried about it. For some reason I decided to start by fixing the electrical problems. You know how, in life, you sometimes make a seemingly good decision and then slowly begin to realise that maybe it was'nt. You get the picture. There are wires everywhere; some doing useful work I am sure, others just hanging there limp and disinterested. Trying to work out which are which is proving to be a challenge; although I do have a very good book by a guy called Rick Astley, no not the singer, which is a great help. Wigley amps have always been a bit of a mystery to me; all very logical for sure but they have a habit of sneaking off into little dark corners and then turing up in all kinds of unexpected places; a bit like the black sheep of the family. On the bright side, I am getting to know my car pretty well and I am sure it will all make sense one day.

The saga of the MGB

Last week-end I travelled up to Kelowna to pick up an MGB. It is a 1971 model, the last of the chrome bumpers, and supposedly in great mechanical shape. I drove it home to the island and put it in for its safety inspection expecting a smooth ride. Woe unto me it failed miserably; well not entirely miserably, the right rear tire was in good shape! I exaggerate, but there are a few major issues to address. On the plus side the engine is fine and it goes like stink and the body is good and solid, pretty important on a 36 year old car. On the debit side there are lots of little things that need fixing and electrics are always a nightmare- all those wiggly amps rushing hither and thither with gay abandon. Still part of me is excited about the challenge of getting my hands oily again and like all things mechanical it can be fixed. It is going to be interesting to see if the guy I bought it off is going to be a gent and split the cost of the repairs and how I deal with it if he doesn't. Watch this space for more news on this saga and maybe the odd pic to keep you coming back.

Joining the Royal Air Force

Why I joined the RAF has always been a bit of a mystery to me. I developed a passion for aeroplanes around the age of 10, why has always surprised me given that I did not live anywhere near an airfield and there was no-one associated with aircraft in the family. I went to Biggin Hill at the age of 16 for pre-selection and then applied again at 17 and was accepted as a navigator. I had no clue what that entailed and had never flown in an aeroplane. Nonetheless, one dark and foggy December evening I arrived at Kemble railway station. It was like a scene from Harry Potter; steam engines were still the norm and the hiss of the engine added to the eerie gloom in which I found myself. There was one other poor soul on the platform with his battered suitcase and the two of us must have provided some amusement to the airman who was sent to pick us up.
When we arrived at the Initial Officer Training School at RAF South Cerney we were given some blankets and pointed to a barrack block. As I recall, the block had four dormitory style rooms; it was a case of find a room and find a bed, literally. The parts of the beds were stacked against the walls and so I had to find the right bits, put it up and make it. The following day was my last day as Robert Iredale; some time during the morning it was decided by my fellow cadets that I would be Bob and 43 years later I still am.
We also met our drill sergeant - Sgt Sparkes. He was fairly soon to advise me that I marched like "Paddy McGinteys goat" I never met the goat but I very much hope he had a better four months than I did. Life was full of adventure and mis-hap, but more of that later.

Micro Financing

I got paid today and I thought I would go on-line and make my loans through Kiva. If you do not know it check out their web site at http://www.kiva.org/. Kiva enables ordinary people like you and me to do an extraordinary thing - change peoples lives. Micro-financing is one way that we can change the world; it gives people in challenging circumstances access to much needed funds to give themselves a leg up. You partner with other financial entities and share the risks, and rewards, with your fellow investors. I once sat down and worked out that if you invest $50 a month and always re-invest your paid up loans, in something like 6 years you would be investing $5,000 a year. Imagine 100,000 people doing that; that ain't no small potatoes! The potential is there to outdo a good many countries in the amount of aid they give, and you know exactly where the money is going. So change the world!!!

First Post

I guess this is by way of an introduction; my intention is to use this site for musings and to record some of the events of my life as I recall them. One thing I have learned about memory is that it is a fickle thing. Important details about my life can disappear without trace only to surface on the pages of my mothers journal. It is truly weird to read about yourself doing things of which you have absolutely no recollection. Still, it is also handy for embellishing the truth; when all is said and done if you believe a thing to be true it must be - right? So, let the journey begin.