Hi,
Barbara once stalled my first 1953 Series One, on the beach in Swansea Bay (Oxwich to be precise). She was reversing up to my boat trailer. (Memory is vague, but I'm sure she wasn't reversing the trailer. Whatever ... ) The tail pipe was under water ... and the tide was coming in ...
She still chortles when she remembers the way I hot-footed up the beach, in search of a tractor.
I returned with the tractor, drama over, apart from the jet of water out the exhaust when I pressed the starter button.
I remembered about the brakes ... having recently chatted to bloke who had jumped the queue onto the slip way, got his mate to stay in the boat when it floated off the trailer, done a U-turn, and barged his way back up the slip way. He was driving a Champ.
But he'd forgotten his brakes ... nearly had an incident on the Oystermouth Road.
Whatever, about a week later my gearbox started to drip something that looked like un-cooked omelette.
Rapid oil change ... no obvious harm done.
In the Swansea Valley (Car crime centre of the EU, frequent appearances on TV "chase" shows ... then ... does it still?), it was usually me who provided a Land Rover and trailer to recover uninsured motor-cycles from the local police station, move horses and pianos, provide a "stall" for the local antique dealer's display at Sunday markets. I even had an HMSO "Animal Movement Book" ... required when moving pigs. I had my own pigs in the Victorian pig-sty in the garden, and a "half-leg" mare and foal in the coal cellar. My ducks used to go scrumping in a neighbour's vegetable plot, and my Marran (sp?) rooster used to crow at 02.30AM every mornning. Grey Fergie parked in the lane. This was a residential area ... and nobody ever complained ... in fact they seemed to love it. Go figure!
No, I lie. The next door neighbour complained about the extra window in the "edifice" that I was building. The
Building Control Officer, came to have a look, then knocked on
her door, invited her into my project, to see what could be seen through the offending window "hole" ... explained that it was going to be frosted glass anyway. Normal relations resumed.
In a later life I had an eight metre canal cruiser on its trailer, parked outside my Victorian end-of-terrace ... but only for one night. You can add the best part of another two meters for "draw-bar" at the front, and Z-drive on the stern.
Yes ... I do miss having a small box trailer. But now, I once again have a "hook" (on the Freelander), so normal life can be resumed.
Wales? One of my neighbours used to wander up Pontardawe High Street ... with an EAGLE OWL on his wrist. Does anybody have a photo of such a combination?
Another time, a neighbour assurred Barbara that his "pit bull" (looked like an ugly boxer to me) would not let go of my wimp of a terrier, until it was dead. Barbara disagreed ..., belted the bully, between the eyes with a house brick. It let go. A few nights later, the dog went beserk, attacked his master ... ambulance, fire brigade, police, dog handler, all on "blues and twos". The police marksman sorted it out. It all happens in the Swansea Valley sub-culture.
Barbara was concerned that she might have damaged dog's brain.
Another of my neighbours used to wander up and down Pontardawe High Street ... with an EAGLE OWL on his wrist. Does anybody have a photo of such a combination?
I managed to link my punk friend with a "free-to-good-home" Neopolitan Mastive (Five months old ... it's owner was becoming scared of it). It was a big softie ... unless it was wagging it's "cricket stump" of a tail ... that hurt.
602 (no longer living in Wales, so I have to behave myself).
