She's driving me mad!

Oh for heaven’s sake…  Will someone save me from this meddlesome woman!  Her Ladyship’s becoming infuriating now, almost obsessed indeed as she fusses around getting all the pre-publicity work done in advance of the publication of Miss Daisy’s Diaries.  If there’s any consolation, she’s paying much more attention to me.  She’s out here most days having a chat and giving me a polish.

“Got to have you looking good for the book signings Old Girl,” she says as she slaps a filthy old chamois leather onto my bonnet.  “You never know when the press might turn up to do something and you’ve got to look good.”

A case of pot calling the kettle black, if you ask me.  She’s wearing an old T shirt and a pair of tacky jeans, hardly suitable attire surely for meeting ladies and gentlemen of the press.  I’ll be interested to see what she decides to wear for her first book signing and if she insists on wearing that ridiculous hat, I’ll scream.

You remember that I told you that she had received an offer of £5,000 for the Grey One and that while I hoped she would get rid of him, I doubted she would.  Well I was right.  She did turn down the offer, but promised the people that she’s look for another one for them.  So if there is a nice running Ruby out there please email her at her-ladyship@missdaisydiaries.co.uk and let her know. 

I was supposed to go on a trip last Wednesday, but Madam came out and told me that the BBC had forecast heavy showers all day and since she wanted to keep me clean and smart, she would take The Grey One instead.  Typical of the BBC though, they got it wrong.  It was beautifully sunny all day… not a drop of rain.  What annoyed me was the stupid grin on the grey one’s face when he came home.

I did have a nice day in Bryngarw though.  Her Ladyship usually goes up on the Saturday and back home on the Sunday, but since the forecast was rain, she decided to do it there and back on the Sunday.  “You’ll manage Old Girl,” she said.  “It’s only 170 miles.  You did much more than that every day on the JOGLE.”  Don’t I know it!

I'm feeling better now... Finally

I have been remiss…  I haven’t produced a blog since my return from the JOGLE back in April.  I am assured by Her Ladyship that I am fit and well again.  Well of course she would know wouldn’t she?

At least the nice Dr John got to the bottom of my engine problem.  It seems that somewhere between Gretna and Bromsgrove, one of the studs which secures my engine block to my crankcase sheared and that caused all the other studs to work loose.  And that resulted in the terrible vibration I had been experiencing and which kept shaking loose various bits of my anatomy.  He fixed that problem and I have been enjoying some lovely trips including escorting the Olympic Torch through Cardigan.

But all was not exactly well.  On the morning of that trip, Her Ladyship noticed that my fan was wobbling badly… again!  “Well Old Girl, Fan belt off I think,” she said.  “I’ll get to the bottom of that problem in due course.”  God help me, she’ll get to the bottom of the problem?  It has baffled two very experienced men.  How on earth can she ‘get to the bottom’ of the problem?

Well blow me, she did!  She dismantled the assembly yesterday and checked absolutely everything.  “Aha!  I’ve found the problem Old Girl.  Look - here – your spigot – the lubrication channel – it’s completely blocked with gunge.  You were not lubricating the bronze bearing.  It being dry, started to destroy the bush.  We’ll soon get that sorted and put a new bush on.  Then you’ll be fit as a flea.”  I wonder what a fit flea looks like.

There’s less than a month now before the official publication of my book and ‘You know who’ is getting terribly excited!  She’s been invited to appear on some radio programmes and the early reviews have apparently been rather good.  Well why not? She’s also been organised to take part in a number of book signings and she’s told me that I have to attend those as well.

But now, I have to brace myself for a run up to Bryngarw Country Park for the Austin weekend.  I’ve been every year you know, but this year HL is worried about the weather.  Last year’s event was a wash out and it looks as though this year might be the same.  Can I cope with the Wrinkled One’s moaning about the weather?  Probably not.  Anyway, I’d rather stay at home in my warm garage than face sheets of rain pelting down on me for two days.

Oh yes there has been another development.  Her Ladyship was offered £5,000 for The Grey One.  Good Grief, that pompous old bore?  That much?  She says she is thinking about the offer, but it’s unlikely she’ll sell him.  Me, I shall get myself ready for the farewell party.

God, I'm Exhausted!

God, I’m absolutely exhausted.  Over ten days at the beginning of this month, I had been driving for nine hours a day and I have now completed another 1,994 miles.  Let’s get this straight… one doesn’t ask a 78 year old car to complete nearly two thousand miles in that sort of time.  But no, Her Ladyship insisted.  I’d tried to get out of it before we left for John O’Groats.

What?  What’s that you ask?  What on earth am I talking about?  I wish you’d concentrate.  I have just completed the John O’Groats to land’s End run over Easter.  But she never warned me that to do the JOGLE once, you actually have to do it twice!  It’s like this; you have to get from your home to John O’Groats first.  Then when you reach Land’s End, you still have to get home again.  No sympathy for me of course.  Oh no, no, no, no, no.  None at all.

So where was I?  You see I am completely stressed out about all this.  Well, I did try to get out of it.  I allowed my cooling fan to go up its own bottom and threaten to destroy my radiator.  But the cow spotted what I was up to.  “We’ll disconnect that before you can do any damage Old Girl.”

Anyway, three days later, with fan fixed, I embarked on my journey north.  We reached Altrincham on the first day, some 215 miles.  Mind you, we had to plough through a heavy snowstorm to get there.  Then on day two we headed for Lanark in Scotland.  I’ve never been to Scotland before…  Nice place.  On Day Three we reached Inverness and by then I’d managed to burn out my brake lights.  Her Ladyship had to use hand signals from then on and it was terribly cold.  She also for some strange reason bought a haggis.  What on earth would she want that for?

We reached the starting line at John O’Groats on Day Four.  Her Ladyship had a quick scone and a coffee and pointed me south.  That night we stayed at Inverness again.  Then on Day Five we headed towards Gretna Green.  No HL wasn’t eloping, well lets face it, who would marry her?  Anyway, that was the day we had trouble.  My so-called repaired fan played up again and she had to disconnect it again.  Then I managed to crack my fuel pipe and it was dripping on the exhaust.  The trouble was, her friends fixed that as well.

Day Six saw some terrible weather.  It absolutely tipped down, but we did make it to our next port of call near Bromsgrove.  Day Seven brought us much better weather and we comfortably made it to Launceston, but I was starting to suffer some discomfort in my engine.  At Launceston, I found out why HL had bought the haggis.  I was parked on a very steep hill and she used it as a wheel chock.

On Day Seven, we reached Land’s End.  Her Ladyship produced the tin of Gin and Tonic from under my seat and guzzled it down.  “Well done Old Girl, you are absolutely brilliant.”  Well I know I am, but we still had to do another 360 miles to get home. 

It was a difficult journey, not helped by the fact that things were shaking loose from the car.  The most important part being my petrol pump, which came loose on the way home, and I spread six pints of oil down a five mile strip of the M5.  Even so, I did make it home two days after arriving in Land’s End.

A week later we visit the nice Dr. John, who did my engine before we left.  “I don’t like the sound of that,” he said.  “Sorry that engine has to come out again.”

Oh Great!

Fit, Healthy and raring to go!

Oh, hello.  I am sorry I’ve been away having heart surgery.  Yes, I have what is to all intents and purposes a brand new engine.  I was returned to Her Ladyship last weekend and I’m raring to go.  I’m even reluctantly accepting the fact that I will have to do this John O’ Groats to Land’s End run over Easter, but I am sure that over the 12 days, I can remind Her Ladyship who is boss.  My engine may be perfect now, but there is still a lot more of me to go wrong.

When we get to Scotland, Her Ladyship tells me that I have to meet a Haggis, whatever that is.  She’s asked me to think about what uses we might have for one?  Do I care?  Look at my headlights – do they look as though they care about what you can do with a haggis?

We had some real excitement yesterday.  Well it all started the day before when she came rushing out of the house to tell me that we were going to do a photo call with a newspaper - Wales on Sunday to be exact.  Then when we went to meet the photographer, Her Ladyship appeared in such a low cut top, I was quite embarrassed.  I mean, she is 65 you know.  Talk about mutton dressed up as lamb!  I could also see that she was freezing.

The photographer was very nice and even the Asthmatic Barking Dog took an interest in proceedings.  At one point he smiled at the photographer, when the said photographer tried to turn him around to face the camera… well I think it was a smile.  Put it like this, he showed his teeth.

The photo session wasn’t for the book; it was for a piece going in the paper next Sunday about the blooming JOGLE.  Her Ladyship did manage to get a plug in for my book though.  Never one to miss an opportunity, that one.  She’s such a media Tart!

She's At It Again...

“Guess what Old Girl?”  I hate it when you know who bursts in with that eager look on her face.  “Well, come on, guess what?”  What does she expect me to do?  She can’t hear me, but I do wonder what all the excitement is all about.  If she tries to contain herself any longer, I think she’ll wet herself.

“We’ve finally got a publishing deal together, Old Girl.  Your diaries are going to appear in print as well as an E book…  It’s not going to be just a Kindle anymore.  It’s absolutely brilliant and you will become a famous author…  Book signings and all that.  What do you think of that then?”

Well, to be honest, I couldn’t care less.  I’m about to be 78 and all I want is a quiet life, I am not interested in this book.  Correct me if I am wrong, but wasn’t this book all your doing?  You helped yourself to my diaries and turned them in to a book.  It’s really nothing to do with me.

“Matador, they’re the publishing company say we can launch it on 1^st July 2012.  Apparently it takes that long to get all the pre-publicity out.  But printed versions of the book should be available in the spring.  Brilliant huh?”  I am trying hard to look as disinterested as I can, but as usual she doesn’t notice.

“Hopefully the book will be out when we go off on the JOGLE…”  Please don’t remind me.  I really don’t want to know about that particular event.  She stares into my empty engine compartment, probably like me wondering whether the engine will be back in time for her to do the run.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot.  We are going to put magnetic signs on your door to promote the book.  That way as people admire us as we go past, they will see you’ve done a book.  How about that then?”

I wonder who it was who said, “Well frankly my dear, I couldn’t give a damn.”  Because  I know exactly how he felt.

Here we go again!

It all happened last week. Her ladyship had burst in to my garage. “Happy New Year Old Girl. I trust you are comfortable.” Madam wandered aimlessly around, fiddling with things on the bench, opening the tool box and then closing it again.

“Now I have some news for you and I don’t know how you are going to take it. I’ve decided that we should take part in the JOGLE. And before you ask, it’s going to be a run from John O’Groats to Land’s End and we shall be doing it over Easter. This year is the 90^th anniversary of the Austin Seven and this run is to celebrate that. You’ll enjoy it, especially as there will be lots of your relatives taking part.” She then started to fiddle with some paint pots on the shelf. She knew exactly how I would feel about this, I had thought that after that run to Spain, she would have realised that the time had come for us both to ease up and rest. But it seems not… Well, not yet.

“It’ll be about the same distance as we did last year, about 2,000 miles by the time we’ve got to the start in John O’Groats and then home from Land’s End.” I didn’t know why she felt it necessary to explain all the gruesome detail. It was a ridiculous idea. I knew what would happen. I would have to slog my way along all these roads listening to her moaning on about the roads, the other cars and their drivers. And she had obviously not considered the trouble she would have with her Haemorrhoids!

“It’ll help promote your book as well. How about that? But Old Girl, I’ve held back the best bit of news.” I thought I’d taken in enough news for one day. Now there was to be more. But this turned out to be a genuine surprise.

“You are going to have some heart surgery. I’ve arranged to have your engine rebuilt. You Old Girl are going to have what is in effect a new engine. It’s going to be completely stripped down and rebuilt in a way that I think even you will appreciate. You will have more power; you’ll be able to go faster. In fact, you’ll feel like new. What about that then?” Well if what could I say? For once, something she said sounded rather nice.

“Therefore in a couple of days, we are going to take your engine out and send it away.”

So here I am, I’ve been drained of oil, drained of water and Her Ladyship with her friends, the nice Mister John and the nice Mister Ed are plunging in to my nether regions with their screwdrivers and spanners. Then…

Clunk… “Right that’s it,” says the Nice Mister John. “We need to pull it forwards and then tip it up and it should come straight out. Did you disconnect the battery?”

“Whoops no,” says Her Ladyship. “We don’t want that shorting out do we?”

Now I’m watching my engine being drawn out forwards and I am beginning to feel very, very tired.

Gone To The Dogs

“Country’s gone to the bloody dogs,” growls Her Ladyship.  “I mean,” she adds, “when some trades union whinger complains about a remark made in jest by Jeremy Clarkson on a TV show, I simply despair.  We all know that he’s famous for polemic remarks like this.  Mind you Old Girl, I agree, I think they should be shot.  Country’s on its knees and they walk out on strike because they won’t be able to enjoy the gilt edged pensions they’ve become accustomed to.  Meanwhile it is poor pensioners like me on my meagre income that have to pay for it in taxes.”

Oh God, here she goes again, on the bandwagon about something that she can do absolutely nothing about and it’s always me that gets the brunt of it.  I mean, what does she want me to do about it?  Lead a coup of septuagenarians to occupy County Hall here in Pembrokeshire and then declare UDI?  I think not!  Let’s face it without my engine; I couldn’t make it very far.

It’s always the same.  Winter’s here and she gets bored, so she comes out to my garage and has a little rant at me.  Oscar the asthmatic barking dog, having followed her out and expecting a trip through the countryside, notices that my engine isn’t there, shrugs his shoulders before heading over to a sunny corner for a snooze. 

“It’s no use talking to him Old Girl, he doesn’t understand what I am on about.  Considering the look on his face, I imagine he thinks I am off my trolley.”  Well Madam, far be it from me to say, but if the cap fits and all that…

“Hang on a minute…  It’s not windy today is it?”  Well actually Your Ladyship, it’s rather a nice day and that is unusual here in Pembrokeshire.  “Tell you what, I have a few hours to kill…  And I have a large can of gunk…  Why don’t I clean your engine compartment ready for a new coat of paint before your engine comes back?  I think I’ll try out that new spray gun.  I’ll just go and get changed.”

Moments later, she’s back.  She rolls me outside, fills the spray can with this obnoxious chemical and starts the compressor.  She then attacks my front end with the same enthusiasm that the ‘Asthmatic Barking Dog’ uses to attack a bone.  Within seconds the air is heavy with this chemical cleaner and ‘You know who’ is kneeling on the ground having a coughing fit.  “What the hell do they put in that stuff?  I should instruct my solicitor”.  This comes from a woman wearing no eye protection or a breathing mask. 

A few minutes later, she is recovered and she clambers to her feet.  “Right Old Girl, let’s wash that all off.”  She disappears in to the garage and returns with a pressure hose.  “This won’t take long,” she shouts as she powers the thing up.  Now I always thought you had to hold tightly on to the spray head.  Her Ladyship doesn’t and the ‘Asthmatic Barking Dog’ is the first to receive the high-pressure jet of water, almost rolling him over.

“Blast the thing,” she cries as she tries to tame this wildly swinging jet of water.  A potted plant goes flying across the yard, smashing in to a wall.  Then the jet of water finds its way in to the garage, throwing tools off the workbench and knocking my spares off the shelves.  Eventually Her Ladyship manages to control this squirming snake and directs it towards my bulkhead.  Unfortunately, she directs the water straight in to a concave section.  It hits me and swirls round immediately and heads straight back out towards whence it came.

It takes a few seconds for Her Ladyship to switch the thing off and she stands there in front of me with water dripping from her forehead, nose and chin.  She’s soaked to the skin.  “I’ll think I’ll go and have a hot bath,” she says and turns on her heel to go back in doors…  What about me then?