Miss Daisy's Normandy Diary

At the end of August 2013, Her Ladyship went to France in Miss Daisy, accompanied by another seven cars.  Over the next few blogs, she relates her experiences.

Tuesday 20^th August

Why did she have to bring him along?  I mean, it’s me exclusively for this sort of trip.  You know what she says, “Hello Old Girl.  Guess what?  We’re going back to France with some of your relatives.   How about that then?” 

That’s what she said to me when she raised the matter of a trip to Normandy back in May.  No mention of him though. Oh no, no, no, no, no.  No mention whatsoever that the Grey One was coming along too.

So there we were, Wee Fergus, The Grey One and myself, sitting in the sunshine waiting for our drivers and passengers to load us up.  Her Ladyship me, The Nice Mister Tony and his daughter Danielle had chosen to travel in the Grey One – poor fools.  Then in Wee Fergus were The Nice Missus Debbie and the nice Missus Jane.

“It’s going to be a glorious week,” announced Her Ladyship.  “Checked the forecast for Caen and it’s going to be thirty four degrees on Thursday.  Lots and lots of bright sunshine are promised, how about that then?”  There were nods of acquiescence as everyone climbed aboard us and we were off to Cardiff.  I was worried about my brakes and par for the course, Madam had not done anything about them and every time she applied the pedal, my rear brakes snatched and I really didn’t like it.  I think that somehow she thought the problem would go away.  Of course it didn’t.

Wednesday 21^st August

We’d stopped at a Travelodge just outside Cardiff and first out the next morning  was the Nice Mister Tony who tended to Wee Fergus’s and the Grey One’s needs.   A while later, Her Ladyship materialised, she’d not had a good night.

“Bloody Travelodge...  Bloody bed...  I hardly slept a wink.”  She continued grumbling as she checked me over.  “Now Old Girl, your brakes, let’s see what we can do to stop you snatching at your rear end.”  She dived underneath me.  No that’s wrong, she gingerly lowered herself to the ground armed with a spanner and some pliers and proceeded to loosen my rear nearside brake cable. 

“Right, let’s see how that works,” she said as she got in and started me up.  We proceeded around the car park and every now and again pressing my brake pedal.  Each time my rear wheels would lock causing me to skid.

“It’s no good,” Her Ladyship announced to the assembled drivers and passengers on our return.  “She’s still having her brakes lock.” 

“We’ll take a look at her at the services at coffee time,” The Nice Mister Tony said.  “Now let’s get on.”

We finally made it to Portsmouth at 5.00pm.  We made it because my rear brakes had been loosened right off and I was only able to rely on my front brakes to stop.  This meant that Her Ladyship had to really anticipate every time she wanted me to stop.  If she didn’t we would sail on, straight over a road junction.  Joining us at Portsmouth were the Nice Mister and Missus Bob and Ann and the Nice Mister and Missus Richard and Susan.  Also joining us were Her Ladyship’s friends from Cardiff, who for some strange reason had decided to come this far by train.  I can’t think why.

 

She’s Got Spoked Wheels, Of Course She Qualifies!

It all started when Her Ladyship got me out early one morning for a good clean.

“Got to have you spick and span Old Girl.  Charity do and all that.  You’re going to be carrying someone older than you, and there aren’t many on this planet that fit that bill are there?”  She wandered into the house chuckling to herself. Cheeky cow!

Moments later, she was back with the Asthmatic Barking Dog and we were off.

“Pembroke Castle, here we come.  A helicopter is bringing this man there and then we have to take him to meet a few motor cyclists who are taking him for a bike ride.  Not sure how he'll keep his balance though.”

We got to the castle and Her Ladyship manoeuvred me in through the gates.  The place seemed deserted.

“Strange, there’s no one here Old Girl.  We’re on time and on the right date aren’t we?  Ah there’s someone.  Helloooo, helloooo?  Can you help me?”  I do wonder why when she has a query; she starts to speak to people very slowly and succinctly.

“I am supposed to be meeting a man with a helicopter.  He’s landing here and I have to give him a lift to the Commons Car Park.”

“Well Lady, you are out of luck.  No helicopter landing here.  The Civil Aviation Authority thought it would be too dangerous.  They are landing on the football field now.  You better hurry, because they’ll be landing soon.”  Her Ladyship, who has by now emerged from my driving seat, leaped back in and started me up.

“Bloody ‘elf and safety.  They always succeed in screwing up other people’s fun... the Barstards!”

The helicopter had touched down as we arrived at the football ground and an elderly gentleman was being helped out.  Her Ladyship pulled alongside.

“Oi...  Who said that you could park that old banger on my field?”  I think this voice belonged to the grounds man and I don’t think he was too pleased at my tyre marks on the pitch.

“Oh, I am sorry.  I am so, so very sorry.  But at the castle, they said I was to come here and I was just obeying orders.  Anyway, that helicopter is much heavier than this car and you don’t seem too unhappy about that.”

“Ah, but I gave permission for it to park there...  But not you!  Move it!”  By this time an elderly gentleman had arrived beside me.  Her Ladyship chose to ignore the grounds man, muttering something about a ‘bloody little Hitler’ and turned to the new arrival.

“Hello, how do you do?  You are the gentleman I am chauffeuring to where the motor cyclists are waiting for you.” 

“Yes I am, How do you do?”

This is Miss Daisy and she is going to take you.  Hop in.”  Asking a 94 year to ‘hop in’ was rather too optimistic I thought.  But he did manage... eventually, and without any help from you know who.

We headed back into Pembroke and round the town arriving at an enormous car park where not a few motorcyclists were waiting, but about 500.

“Ah here you are.  And Mr. Jones, welcome.  Can I help you out?  You are now going to be kitted out to ride on the back of a motor tricycle.  The new arrival was a stout man with a platted beard and dressed from top to toe in leathers.  He helped the old man out and a colleague helped him away to find his new mode of transport, but not before he came round to the front of me to thank me for the nice ride.  I think Her Ladyship was a bit put out that he did not thank her.  Anyway, I did all the work. 

“Are you going to join us?”  The man in the leathers had turned to Her Ladyship.

“Well that’s very kind of you, but I know this is a special motorcycle event and I fear we are hardly a motor bike.  Anyway, I am not sure I’d keep up with you.”  I think Her Ladyship was keen to get home.  Leather man peered at me.

“Nonsense, she’ll be capable of 30 to 40 mph won’t she?”  Her Ladyship nods.

“As for qualifying as a motorbike.  Well she may have two wheels too many, but she’s got spoked wheels.  Of course she’ll qualify.”

Personally I do not understand for the life of me why I have to qualify for anything at my age.

 

Here I am!

Her Ladyship loses the Will To Live!

“Well Old Girl, this is a turn up for the books!”  It was Her Ladyship...  “Guess what?”

Hmmm, let me see.  I know...  Curiosity has discovered a relative on Mars?  For heaven’s sake woman, how would I know what to guess?

“It’s terribly exciting Old Girl.  Here look at this email.”  She thrusts her tablet thingy towards me.  “Look...  See...  We’ve been invited to Birmingham!  Isn’t it brilliant?”  I couldn’t help wondering whether she wanted a truthful answer or a polite one. 

“We are going to be guests of the Pre War Austin Seven Club.  What do you think of that then?”  What do I think?  How about do you have to come as well?

“Oh,hang on, I’ve just seen when.  It’s the middle of November, and it’s rather a long way.  I think you’ll be going on a trailer.”  Then she was gone.

I’d completely forgotten about this conversation until Her Ladyship hauled me out of my garage one cold November morning. 

“Let’s give you a really good clean up,” she said as she hoiked me off the ground.  “Wheels first.  They’re a terrible mess.” 

It took her two days to clean me up, both inside and out.  “Now Old Girl, I want you to stay clean.  Okay?”  I really do despair of this woman.  How on earth could I get myself dirty without her having a significant hand in these matters.

A few days later she took me down the drive to where there was a car transporter trailer waiting.  One end was attached to Madam’s modern car and at the other end, a pair of ramps awaiting my arrival.  “Up we go Old Girl.”  Her Ladyship revved my engine and quite deftly, planted me safely onto the trailer.  I couldn’t help wondering whether she would be as good securing me in place as she was getting me on board that thing.

“There we are Old Girl, all ready to go.”  She clambered into the modern car and started to roll us forwards.  There was a horrible grating and grinding sound.  Madam slapped on her brakes.

“What have you gone and done now?”  A rather angry Ladyship almost fell out of her modern and came back to look at the trailer.  I awaited her apology with my usual patience.  It didn’t take long.  “Oh sorry Old Girl, my fault.  I haven’t raised the trailer’s rear legs.”  Grabbing a spanner, Madam proceeded to lift up and lock the legs in place.  Once more we were on our way.

We had achieved several miles when she pulled over again and got out.  “Have you put on weight Old Girl?  I can’t seem to get any speed.”  If she hadn’t been in such a rush to get away, she would have noticed that she had left the trailer’s handbrake on.  Now the brake drums were happily smoking away.  The penny dropped...  “Ah.  Oh.  Whoops...  That was a bit daft wasn’t it?”  Her Ladyship released the brake and yet again we were on our way.  I couldn’t help wondering what she would mess up next.

It didn’t take long.  It was Cardiff Gate services.  Her Ladyship pulled off the motorway, swung us round some roundabouts and into a car park.  She spent the next ten minutes driving round looking for a suitable space to park us.  I have to confess to getting rather exasperated at how many times we drove up and down the same lanes.  Then we stopped, Her Ladyship got out, looked around, got in again and moved us on until we stopped again and she repeated the action.  This happened several times until I heard a number of expletives and she stopped in one of the access lanes, scribbled a note and stuck it on the windscreen.  “I need the loo Old Girl.  Can’t wait any longer.”  And she was gone.

We arrived at the NEC as it was getting dark.  “Hmm now where is car park number three?  Ah, here we are...”  We joined a short queue of cars and the security man glanced at a clip board as we pulled up.

“You not supposed to be here,” he said as he stretched himself up to his full five foot two inches. 

“What?  What are you talking about my man?  I’m looking for car park Three.  It’s beside Hall Seventeen.”

“This is Car Park Five...  You’re not supposed to be here.”  This wasn’t a very helpful thing to say to Her Ladyship especially after a several hundred mile trip that took most of the day.

“Then,” she forced one of those smiles that suggested she had accidentally got some battery acid on her tongue.  “Perhaps you would be ever so kind and advise me to which car park I should go.”

“You need Car Park Three.”

“I know I need Car Park Three...  I thought this was Car Park – bloody Three.”

“Well it’s not.  This is Car P...”

“Car Park – bloody Five!  I know.”

“There’s no need to take that manner with me, Madam.”

“If you’d been hauling this thing from Pembrokeshire to Birmingham for the last six hours, you’d be taking on this manner.”  He appeared not to listen.

“If you swing round here, go back to that roundabout, take a left, then straight over the next one with a left at the one after that, you’ll find Car Park Three.”

“Thank you, I’ll do that.”  She smiled another of her sweet acid smiles and muttered ‘Bloody Idiot’ under her breath as she drove off.

“I heard that.” The security man shouted at us as we turned around.

“Now what did he say?  Left at the first roundabout...  Right got that...  Straight across at the next.  There it is...  Soon be there now Old Girl.  Not far, then we can unload you and park you in the nice warm hall.  Here we are – Car Park Three.”  She stops beside another security man and smiles sweetly at him.  “I need Hall Seventeen young man.  Can you tell me where I need to go please.”

“Not this car park, Lady.  You need Car Park Three.”

“But this is Car Park Three.”

“No it ain’t, this is Car Park Seven.”

“Seven?  But the man back there said this is Car Park Three!”  I began to wonder whether Her Ladyship was giving up the will to live.

“You took a left at that roundabout didn’t you?”  Her Ladyship nodded.  “Well you should have taken a right.”

“But he said...”  He cut her short.

“Go back to that roundabout and go straight over, then at the next take a left and you’ll be there.”

“Thank you...  Thank you very much.”  I didn’t detect much gratitude in that reply.  Perhaps it was her emphasis on the ‘You’.  She swung us round yet another roundabout, then slammed on the brakes.  She pulled out her mobile phone and punched at its dial.

“Hello?  Is that Nigel?”  At last...  She’d shown some sense, she was calling The Nice Mister Nigel.  “Nigel, I’m lost.  I’m here, but I’m lost and rapidly giving up the will to live...  What?  The last one?  That was Car Park Seven and I think I am now heading for Car Park Three.  But judging from the directions I have received so far, I could just as easily be in Earls Court...  Oh...  Yes I can see it...  Head that way, yes...  What?  Oh Okay, and I’ll meet you there.  See you in a couple of minutes...”  She tossed her phone into her bag.

“Soon be there now Old Girl...”  We pulled off again and lo and behold, within a couple of minutes The Nice Mister Nigel was in the passenger seat, guiding an exasperated Wrinkled One to Hall 17 where they unloaded me from the trailer and delivered me to the safety and warmth of the NEC.

And a last word from Her Ladyship.  Sincere thanks to everyone of the Pre-war Austin Seven Club team at the Classic Car Show who made me feel so welcome and who looked after me so well.  Apart from some heavy driving rain, we made it home safe and sound. Although it took a week to dry Miss Daisy out.

Winter Draws On

Well, in the case of Her Ladyship I’ve had to gaze out on several pairs of greying winter draws hanging on the line.

“Better get them washed first Old Girl,” she announces without a hint of embarrassment as they hang dripping from the washing line, advertising the fact that they permanently show that her backside has stretched them a bit. “Perhaps I ought to think about buying some new ones. There again, these are very comfortable.”

Hmmph. Comfortable indeed… they look like three bell tents hanging upside down. No shape, no shape in them at all.

“It’s getting colder now and we’ve been having book signings in Swansea and the NEC between the 16th and 18th November. What a haul that was. Usually Madam has been driving me to them, but in the case of the Classic Car Show at the NEC, she told me that she was putting me on a trailer ‘So I don’t get dirty!’ Well luckily for her, we had a spate of dry weather in the days running up to and the 215 mile trip itself. So I actually got there in as clean a state as I left. But I’ve sensed that Her Ladyship has been totally stressed out. The problem is that she is on an opiate pain killer.

“It’s melting my brain Old Girl,” she told me. “But it does sort the back pain and I can move around. The trouble is that I just cannot remember things and I write lists and then can’t remember where I put them.” Nothing changed there then!

I enjoyed the attention at the NEC. Even you know who was quite pleased with the attention I was getting. She wasn’t so pleased at the ‘Petrol Heads’ who simply wouldn’t buy my books. We still sold quite a few though, mainly to the wives of the ‘Petrol Heads’.

The journey home was awful. The heavens opened and I was soaked to the skin, both inside and out. Her Ladyship reassured me that we had to plod on and get home, so it was relentless.

“You are in a state Old Girl,” she said when she unloaded me. “I’m going to have to clean you up before we go to Picton and Pembroke Castles at the end of the month.” You mean there’s more of this? For heaven’s sake, I’m usually put quietly to bed this time of year, while ‘you know who’ hauls out the Grey One. I think I might go on strike. At least when they haul her in for the surgery on her back, I will get 6 weeks of peace and quiet.

Didn’t We Have A Lovely Day? NOT!

“Right Old Girl,” Her ladyship rolled me out onto the courtyard.  “Right, a big day tomorrow.  We are off to Cardiff - The Metropolis of Wales.  I’ve fixed it for you to go to Waterstones in the city centre so that we can do a book signing.”

I had to wonder why on earth she needed me along.  She only uses these events for a bit of cheap self-seeking publicity.  She started to load me up with boxes of books, her luggage and the loud clink of a heavy plastic bag suggesting that she was loading me up with a large stock of wine as well.  The Asthmatic Barking Dog looked on confused.  She was filling up my rear seat, suggesting to him that he wasn’t coming with us.  Undaunted, he plonked himself in front of me and went to sleep, realising as he drifted off into the land of nod, that Her Ladyship couldn’t move me without his acquiescence.

But canny as ever, Her Ladyship then started to toss his things into her modern car.  “Right Dog, come on, let’s go.”  One eye opened to see what the fuss was about, showed some reaction to the fact that all his possessions were now in that car’s boot and then he went back to sleep.  “I said…  Come on Dog, let’s go.  You are going on holiday.”  He ignored her once more and she marched over, lead in hand and attached it to his collar.  “Come on Old man.  Let’s get you into the car.”  The Asthmatic Barking Dog slowly got up and wandered over to the modern car and they were off.

She returned minutes later, parked up that car and clambered into me and within minutes, we headed out the drive and she steered me for Cardiff.  It was a lovely sunny day and I really enjoyed the journey.  Three and a half hours later, I was parked up and Her Ladyship had tucked into her first G&T.

The following Morning, she came out to polish and smarten me up.  “Right Miss Daisy, off to the City Centre now.  The City Council has given me a specific route to get to The Hayes.  So here we go.”  Ten minutes later we arrive at Womanby Street.

“That’s odd,” said Her Ladyship.  “They said that someone would remove the bollards and they haven’t.  Hang on.”  She whipped out her phone and punched at the dial.  “Hello...  Yes…  I was told that if I came to Womanby Street I could get my car through to Waterstones.  I am doing a book signing you see…  What?  Who?  How?  Well they gave me this number…  So you can’t help me then?  Great!”  She threw the phone onto my floor.

“It seems we are on our own, Old Girl.  Hang on, I think we can get through here.”  Her Ladyship then paced the gap between two of the bollards.  “Five of my feet Old Girl.  You are Four foot four.”  She clambered in, started me up and inched me through the gap.  We were nearly through when a shopkeeper came out and lifted one of the bollards out of its hole.  “Oh?  So they come out on their own do they?”  The shopkeeper nodded.  “Thank you, thank you very much.  This is going to be easy now Old Girl.  Come on then.”

We proceeded very slowly towards our destination; that is until two bollards only four feet apart confronted us.  Her Ladyship got out and attempted to lift the bollard out.  “Oh Shit – Damn – Bloody – Bugger – Cuss.  I can’t move it.”  A street sweeper wandered up to us.

“You won’t get that out,” he said.

“I’ve noticed,” Her Ladyship replied curtly.  “I need to get to Waterstones.  I’ve had permission from the council.  How do I get there?”

Well don’t say I told you, but if you turn round and head down there, turn left into Westgate Street.  Then two turnings down, go left.  It’s a one-way street and you’ll be going in the wrong direction.  But no one will mind.”

“Are you sure?”  Her Ladyship seemed worried.   I wasn’t surprised, I was too.

“It’ll be all right.  Go up there, straight across St, Mary Street, up to the end and you’ll be at Waterstones.”  Her Ladyship was very doubtful. 

“Well, if you are sure…  Then here we go.”  It worked, except that we met a Mercedes coming the correct way down the one-way street, but I was able to get out of its way. Then through a couple of bollards with an inch either side, followed by a round of applause from the shoppers and we were there.

“Well Old Girl.  A few minutes late, but we made it.  I’ll go and let them know I’ve arrived.  You sit here and behave.”  Could I do anything else?

It seemed a long day with a lot of people examining me closely.  A Big Issue seller was offering people the opportunity to sit in me and have their photo taken if they bought a copy of the Issue.  I though that very enterprising of him and thank God You Know Who didn’t notice.  There would have been hell to pay.

Gloop

Hello…  Me again…  Well we’ve had a frantic late July and August.  One of the nicest events for me was the trip up to Warwick for the big 90^th birthday party for me and 537 of my relatives.  But first I have to tell you about Her Ladyship’s attempt at camping.

You may have read about it on my facebook page, but here it is in all its gory detail.  Her Ladyship had been doing a book signing at Waterstone’s Bookshop in Carmarthen and then she was due to go to a car show the next day to try to sell and sign copies of my book.  Since the venue for the signing was only five miles from Carmarthen she decided to camp rather than drive the 40 miles home and 40 miles back the next morning.  Now this is a woman of some 66 years who hasn’t actually camped since 1958 when she was in the Guides.  On top of that she has bladder issues and needs the Loo two or three times a night.

“No problem Old Girl,” she announces one morning, waving around some sort of fold down stool with a hole in the seat.  “No worry, I can use this.  It’s a portable toilet and when I wake up in the night, I won’t have to go out the tent to find the portaloos.”

There is really no need to write more on this, as I am sure your imaginations will tell you what happened.  But I really want to…

She had also bought herself an inflatable bed in order that she was up off the ground and felt she’d be more comfortable.  Well that didn’t work for a start.  I was parked right beside her tent and didn’t see what happened, but what I heard was enough…

“God this thing’s uncomfortable.  I wonder if I pumped it up too much.”   An hour of grunts and tossings and turnings passed.

“Oh for God’s sake.  How do they sleep on these things.”  More tossings, turnings and grunts, this time lasting another hour.  Then a massive grunt as she heaved herself off the inflatable bed.  A light went on and I could see her silhouette as she manoeuvred herself onto the portable loo.  I heard the sound of running waters, and then she leant forwards to heave herself off the loo.  At that point, the loo decided that it was far better to be flat on the ground and it collapsed with Madam still on it and obviously splashed its contents all over the tent’s ground sheet.

“Oh, shit, damn, bloody, bugger, cuss.  It’s gone everywhere.”  Her silhouette attempted to stand up and immediately slipped, falling back into the pool.  This time she crawled off and attempted to mop everything up.  Half an hour later, the light went out and this time she managed to doze off to sleep, if the gentle snore was anything to go by.

Eventually the light came on again and she was grunting herself off the bed once more.  Then to my horror she lowered herself back onto the re-erected portable loo once more.  You would have thought she had learnt from previous experiences wouldn’t you?  Well she didn’t and the whole scene happened all over again.

“Well Old Girl, that’s the last time I camp…  It was a complete disaster…  You’ll never believe what happened…”  Oh yes I do!!!

Launched - Well I Think That's What They Call It!

Well what a month…  I’m exhausted.  Barely days into July, Her Ladyship delivered me to the Llangwm village pub, The Cottage Inn.

“They don’t let cars in Old Girl, sorry,” she says.  “You’ll have to wait out here, while I do the signings.”  Excuse me…  It’s my book…  Shouldn’t I be doing the signings?

Four hours later, she totters out.  “Sorry Old Girl, I sshhould have come out earlierer, but we were so busy.  We shigned fifty five books.  Not a bad shtart Huh?  I have to leave you here now; I’m a bit tiddly.  One too many Slippy Nipples?”  Bit tiddly indeed.  One too many Slippy Nipples?  More like five too many, if you ask me.  She’s what you humans call - ‘Pissed!’  “Now don’t forget we have to go to Cardiff tomorrow for your Radio Wales appearance.”  She says in passing as she totters home

Hmmph, I’ll be left in the BBC car park, while she goes on and on, not allowing the interviewer get a word in edgeways.

The following morning, a rather tender Ladyship arrived.  She’s walking with a tentative step.  “Morning Old Girl, we’ve got to get up to Cardiff today and they’ve forecast heavy rain.  Not looking forwards to the M4 to be honest.”

I wasn’t surprised, it was a veritable nightmare.  Heavy rain all the way and the spray from the passing lorries left me in a complete mess.  I was so relieved when we reached our destination.  Her Ladyship checked her hair and make up.  I couldn’t understand why, because she was going on the radio.  “Well you never know Old Girl, they might want to put us on the telly.”  In this weather?  She has to be joking.

An hour later, she was out again, with a rather severe looking producer.  I reckoned that she had messed up the interview and after a brief goodbye; Her Ladyship clambers in and starts me up.

I don’t think I did that well Old Girl.  My mouth seemed to be at least five sentences ahead of my brain.  At one point I found myself talking about my Haemorrhoids…”  Oh my God, I hear enough about them and now the whole world knows…  “And then I used the word ‘bloody’ while I was talking about you…”  Oh thank you very much for that…  “Let’s get to our overnight stop.”

The next day we were on our way home.  But first, Her Ladyship needed to take me to see a TV production company.  I can’t think why, but they were talking something about doing a TV version of my book.  It was still raining, but not nearly as bad as yesterday and we got home later that day, soaked to the skin.

Two days later we were off on another book signing at the Victoria Book Shop in Haverfordwest.  At least the sun was out and Madam obviously didn’t expect rain, because she took my hood down.  The result was that passers by kept getting in and out of me taking photos of themselves.  The worst were the young children, who refused to let go of their ice creams.  The result was an awful mess and a very sticky steering wheel while Her Ladyship smiled on.

“Oooh you are a bit of a mess,” said Her Ladyship as she packed me up to go home.  “Urgh, what is that on your steering wheel?  We’ll need to give you a good clean when we get home.”

 

We’ve had several more signings and at one, a festival near Llanelli when Her Ladyship chose to camp.  She managed to collapse a portable toilet while she was sitting on it.  But more of that next time…