Peak of perfection.

In accordance with "The Plan" the team met up at the Judges house in the Cave at 0630 hours, and set off in two cars heading for the Yorkshire Dales to tackle the Three Peaks. This was the second of our increasingly inaccurately named Annual Christmas Beer and Boots weekends, given that it was neither Christmas nor was it the weekend.

Some minor fiddling was needed on mikes car, a loose exhaust shield was rattling. Eerily, my own exhaust shield had fallen off on the previous years outing - maybe the Dales repel exhaust Shields somehow?
Short order was made of the motorway leg of the journey, then a cut through the pre-rush hour metropolis that is Harrogate saw us onto the A59 and in search of breakfast of the bacon and sausage sandwich variety.
We had on the previous event stopped at a roadside lay by cafe which has spectacular views of the Dales near Skipton, and the experience was only somewhat marred by the slightly eccentric proprietor showing off various Air Ambulance related regalia in the misguided but very enthusiastic belief that we were in some way remotely interested. On that occasion we had dropped coins in his tin and beat a hasty retreat. Well it is a very worthy cause.
During the summer I had passed the cafe several times and found it closed, so finding it open we assumed it was perhaps under new ownership. Foolishly we stopped and entered.

The same owner was still in place, and lost no time in telling us that his premises were now regularly visited, indeed guarded, by armed police due to the suspected presence of surface to air missiles in the area. I suspect that local air traffic was at far greater risk than his former HGV converted Cafe, but his earnest account earned him the nickname of SAM from now on. His wife/partner/hostage or whoever she is serving the grub will henceforth be known as Ella. This of course will allow us to refer tot he location henceforth as Sam 'N' Ella's which is just as well, given the quality of the grub and it's startling effects on the human digestive system (see later in this post)
Arriving at our overnight base at Halton Gill the accommodation looked impressive - from outside. unfortunately due to a hiccup we couldn't get in, the caretaker was supposed to meet us or leave it unlocked for our arrival but did neither. No phone signal meant we couldn't even ring the owner to get the key code for the back door. So it was down to Horton, where we could get a signal and sort it out from there, then booted and suited straight up Pen-Y-Ghent. In the summer I tackled the ascent the long way up short way down. This time it was the reverse, a long steepish drag up then that last climb up the sheer slope for lunch at the top followed by the long trek down the slope to Horton again.
Ready for liquid refreshment we headed to the Golden Lion scene of our 2008 visit but found it disappointingly closed. The name of the pub at the other end of Horton escapes me, but did a very nice pint of something warm and wet. A humorous interlude provided by an unwitting local and proliferated by PK venting his spleen on the absurdity of the comment sent Selby into uncontrollable giggles, each succinct barb coming with such perfect comedic timing that Dave very nearly asphyxiated, unable to regain breathing control.
The cause of such merriment? "Afternoon lads. It's a nice day. It's not raining."

Damn. And we'd been walking all day and not noticed. A good job there are such incisive locals to tell us these things. Such a pointless and idle comment drew all sorts of speculation as to the old mans identity. Was he a revered soothsayer? Did folk from the village seek him out for his pearls of meteorological wisdom? Did he perhaps double up as a local newscaster and traffic reporter? Such accounts as "The roads are quiet, there's no cars coming," or "No one in the village died today" must be worth their weight in gold in such a compact community. Folk must come from miles around to ask thing like, "Is it raining, only I've come out without my brolly seeing as how it was dry."

Back at Halton Gill and it was showers all round then a relaxing sauna and a beer or two before another shower and change in to evening wear for dinner at the pub. The pub was just over two miles down the road, so we drove down, but did the sensible thing and left the car there to collect in the morning having had several pints and a Mucky Duck pie. (No That's not a culinary comment, that is exactly what it was called and very nice it was too)
The clouldless sky gave unprecedented views of the milky way and several shooting stars as we slip slided on the black ice covered tarmac back to the bunkhouse. Then the night slipped away with a few more beers and several games of pool. Most enjoyable. Except it was about then that PK's bowels began to let loose a series of violent and foul expulsions, rating 7.2 on the Richter scale and with the sulphuric fury of Beelzebub's bathwater. This was to go on all through the night, relegating cows into second place as the worlds leading CO2 producers.
Settling down to bed PK bagged what he supposed to be the best top bunk in the house, only to find that when the lights went out he was swathed in the bright green luminence of the emergency light, hardly conducive to restful sleep. All other options being taken he retired to the lower bunk.
Friday morning saw three of the four in the group being rudely awakened by some bastard clanging a saucepan with a spoon in the style of the old cowboy films. I was not one of the three so I guess that makes me the bastard. Dave came awake so quickly that he nearly put his head through the ceiling, but Mike was strangely unaffected, remaining as motionless as he had all night, the only one never to have moved in any way, the rest of us creaked and groaned all night on the squeaky but surprisingly comfortable metal sprung bunks. Perhaps it's his miltary background and he doesn't move so as not to give his position away.
The saucepan was put to good use in preparing a full English before we packed up and moved on to West View, another bunkhouse the other side of the Peaks near Ingleton ready for day two of the challenge. Although lacking in the Sauna and pool table areas this was a much smaller and more homely venue and had a TV with Freeview. Bonus!
Parking at the Ribblehead viaduct we set off up Whernside, a tricky ascent given the black ice on some of the slabs and steps coupled with melted mud elsewhere, making the walk as slippery as a cabinet minister.

Left: Martin in "Buzz Lightyear" pose at the Ribblehead Viaduct.

Conversation lead of course to what did the Romans ever do for us? This being despite this being a viaduct, not an aquaduct and built in the 1870's by the Victorians, not by the Romans at all. I'm sure Monty and his Pythons could have gained somethign scriptworthy from our paradoy and the digressive converstion that ensued.
Pen-Y-Ghent has of course been discussed in detail on the blog before. It is, as is well documented, an evil brooding bastard. It is however, honest and up front about it. Whernside on the other hand is a devious, sneaky bastard. It sits there looking all inncoent hiding more than it's fair share of uphilliness and just pretending to be pretty. Don't be fooled by it. I'd rather have done Pen-Y-Ghent again than Whernside. It has a long long climb, and with the wintery conditions it was as slippery as a cabinet minister covered in somethign slippery, standing on a slippery thing, covered in something slippery. Regardless, we eventualy made the top without mishap, if of course you exclude PK's extremely entertaining dance moves to avoid falling over. Such effort went into his many arm and leg movements that falling over would have involved less risk of injury in the long run, but he did maintain an upright position, even if he lacked some poise and dignity at that precise moment.

PK poses by a wall with a waterfall in the back ground. Just behind that wall was a river. And what's going through Kitsons' mind? Probably something like "There good fishing to be had in there!"

Despite the cool temperatures the sun was shining brightly promting Dave of Selby to strip off his lower legs and reveal his whiter bits to the sunlight. He was still in shorts when we stopped at the top to break for lunch. The rest of us were also down to one layer, but the breif lunchstop saw my body temperature plummet, and even with all five layers restored it took a while to get back the warmth I'd lost.

Coming down the hill my old "war wound" started playing up, with the left knee sending spiky bolts of pain at every step. Selby grumbles on the inclines, I was cursing on the descent, up until Mike loaning me his walking pole which releived the leg nicely and once back on the (almost) level I was fine again.

Walks end was the Station Inn at Ribblehead, a fine old Dales pub, with a healthy sense of humour if the sign outside was anything to go by.

After a much deserved pint Mike had to depart back to Hull, unable to get the early shift off work the next day, but the remainder of the team adjourned to West View, the bunkhouse just outside of Ingleton and only a 1/2 mile stroll from the Marton Arms.

We had considered tackling Ingleborough to complete the three peaks in one visit, but with the iminent loss of daylight, coupled with the cold and slippery conditions and my dodgy knee threatening to give in we admitted to oursleves it would be folish to take the risk. Besides, the lure of steak and beer was too strong. And of course, if we complteted the Three, what excuse could we use for coming back next year?

The Marton Arms has a wide range of Scotch - about 96 different brands and blends, but I resisted the temptation, and instead settled on the bitter, of which there were six or seven different choices, (I'm staring to sound like Pub Spy now aren't I?) Dave joined me in sampling a pint of each, but PK stuck with his nancy boy chemical conconction of southern lager, reluctant as ever to drink anything with bits floating in it. Steak was excellant, if perhaps a little too rare - a good vet could have had mine up and running bbout the field again, but very tasty never the less. With eye candy courtesy of a table full of fillies celebrating a Christmas Party just over our left shoulders what could be better?

After a few beers, the conversation, naturally, turned to such philosophical debate as Life, the universe, and ....well everything really, covering topics as diverse as sex, drugs, rock and roll, religion, relationships, law and order, UFO's, aliens, the X Files versus Star Trek, Life on Mars (of course) sleep paralysis, ghosts and hauntings, Monty Python, and well, the lsit goes on really. Only Mikes absence declined for the debate, as I'm sure he woudl have made some valuable contributions. The great thing was of course, that the absence of any women meant this was nothing more than conversation. Has a woman got involved it would doubtless have become an arguement. That I think speaks volumes. I'm not gettign all gay about this understand, it's just that it occurs to me that blokes can get along just fine, even if the have opposing views, providing there are no women present. I'd even go so far as to say that without Eva Braun the second world war might never have happened. Or it would have been a simple pool challenge, a darts match or an arm wrestling contest, the winner magnaminously buying the loser a pint, and nobody slaughtering hardly any jews at all. That's pure conjecture of course, but since we were talking about parallel universes theres a good chance that actually happened.

The night at West View went quietly with much less expulsion of excess wind, and only a sloped roof close to the top bunk caused any source of merriment as I sat up to quickly and stunned myself. The accommodation proved homely and comfortable, and much much warmer than the Golden Lion, so much so that I ended up sleeping outside my sleeping bag.

After a healthy breakfast of bacon and mushrooms in pepper sauce for Dabe and I, and a fried egg and bacon cholesterol special for PK it was time to head east and back to the grindstone for another year.

Having succesfully failed to conquer the Three Peaks we now have the excuse to go and try again, but next time it could be the real thing - all three in one long slog - in the summer - in daylight.

But the winter challenge should hopefully take place next year.

Feeling Peaky

Tommorow sees the rather complicatedly named Operations Branch D Division Roads Policing Section combined Incident Resolution Team Walking and Beer Drinking Club (OBDDRPSCIRTWBDC) making a return visit to conquer the Three Yorkshire Peaks. We probably need to work on a snappier acronym.

I would suggest PRATS. (Policng Roads and Tactical Support) Certainly we must be a bunch of prats to think about going up that evil brooding bastard (Pen-Y-Ghent) in December, particularly after the aborted assault on Whernside in a blizzard last year. But try we will.

The itinery goes something like this;

Thursday; wake at stupid o'clock in the morning and head to the Cave to pick up the rest of the crew. This year we have the old stalwarts of Paul "Nelson" Kitson, (PK) and Dave "Greendale" Selby, but will be joined by Mike Barratt aka The Judge. (Note this is not the Mike Barratt of 1980's Shakin' Stevens Pop fame, although he does play guitar. He also abseils and eats squirrels and rats and could track a Vegan Snow Lizzard through an Arcturan Mega Blizzard, so he;'s a welcome addition to the crew.

It will be a quickish blast up the motorway in whichever direction mad SatNav woman sends us. Until we are hungry and need a bacon buttie, when as usual we will start to ignore her and rely on the sun/stars/mos on the side of trees/intuition/directional sense and if all else faisl a road atlas. SatNav woman is the sexy sounding woman with no previous experience of driving in the UK. This is not surprising, as she lives in a small blue and grey box in my glove box most of the year, and only comes out for these expeditions. Some might say that a software update might improve her sense of direction , but I disagree - she was always like this. Faced with a city centre she will drive you round and round in circles visiting every shoe shop, before takling you back to the first one you saw, presumable to buy the first pair of shoes she tried on. This trait disappears completely if you change to the mans voice, but as he sounds like a constipated Dalek, I'd rather be driven to distraction than driven to boredom.

Anyhow, after a while we should arrive at the bunkhouse to park the car and tackle the toughest of the Peaks, Pen-Y-Ghent before dark. Then it will be a return to the bunkhouse to change before heading to the pub for dinner (that is tea of course for thsoe of us in Yorkshire) Dinner will doubtless be mostly liquid.

With regards to the bunkhouse, last year we let Greendale organise the accomodation - hence we ended up with no central heating and a dodgy cold water shower, and a pub where anything you ordered was out of stock, out of season or out of a tin. We did have an Ingrid though, a barmaid with huge ........ enthusiasm for her job, who sold us watered down beer until we couldn't stand ....

it any more and went to bed.

This year I have to say I have found a much better bunkhouse with a sauna and a free pool table. Sadly this is only available for the Thursday night. We have to move on the Friday to other equally pleasant accomodation but without those luxuries.

Friday mornign we=ill see the catering manager (that's me as well) cooking up a full English to steady us for the longer assault of Whernside and Ingleborough. The Judge is hopefully going to accompany us but then has to leave early to head back hoem for duty on Saturday morning - PK, Greendale and I will be staying another night to attempt to drink dry the local boozer before returning at a more leisurely pace on the Saturday.

So that's the plan. Now watch it all go wrong. Photo's and a full write up of our misadventures to follow soon.

This will be our second annual December walk outing, whcih now makes it officially a tradition. Planning will begin for next years event just as soon as we sober up.

Global warming - again.

I may have touched on this subject before as it is a subject relatively close to my heart - well it'sbollocks, and that's quite close to my heart.

Last time I wrote about it I think I sort of suggested that we nuke China, on the grounds that humans exhale CO2, and the increase in CO2 in the last century is roughly equivalent to the increase in the popoulation of China, therefore logically eradicating China eradicates global warming. I think I may also have relented slightly, suggesting that not all Chinamen are deserving of sucgh a fate, and that perhaps we could nuke Iraq instead.

Anyway, my point is that CO2 global warming is bollocks, the idea that cars and factories are choking the planet is ridiculous. It's natural weather patterns that are causing it, hence the last ice age and the gradual warming since. How else do you explain the glorious summer of 1939? The battle of Britain saw some of the warmest weather this century.

This week comes the announcement that Methane gas is a bigger cause of global warming than CO2. The majority of Methane of course is produced by cows. Suprisingly the Government has not introduced a cow tax, nor has it launched a media campaign to reduce the use of cows, nor have they got tough on cows or the causes of cows.

Last night on The One Show some wishy washy vegetarian suggested that global warming would be redued if we all stopped eating meat. In theory that sounds fine, less people eating cows, equals less cows, equals less Methane. But hang on, what do vegetarians eat, once they have worried all the lettuces and cabbages? That's right, they eat cheese and yoghurt. And they drink milk because they are too wimpy to consider beer as an alternative. Cheese, yoghurt and milk come from cows!

When you think about it cows are probably quite the most ecological animal on the planet. The give milk, which can make cream, or cheese, youghurt or whey, they can be made into steaks or burgers, and their skins are made into leather. And thier bones can probably be boiled down to make glue or something. Even their tails go into soup. The idea of recuding the number of something so useful is preposterous.

So, and here is my serious suggestion, if we are so concerned about the Methane these cows are producing, and the CO2 produced by cars, why can't we compromise? A car will run happily on Liquid Petroleum Gas, which is only a small step away from Metahane Gas. Surely science can up with a way of strapping a cow to every car to make it Methane neutral, CO2 Neutral and still able to provide burgers, steak, cheese, eggs, milk, cream, leather shoes, and superglue prior to it being scrapped for a new Mondeo under the Governments scrappage scheme?

Minty becomes Chinky

Not very politically correct, but my electric car project will henceforth be known as the Chinky. It was named Minty, as it emits no emissions and is therefore like a breath of fresh air as it drives past - hence the mint tag. However, my current daily driver, Mervin the Van is Vegetable oil converted and smells like a chippy. The electric car is a Fiat Cinquecento - a chinky right? And as a fish and chip shop and a Chinese takeaway (known round here as the Chinky) are somewhat related the Chinky tag as sort of taken over. So it's project Chinky from now on right?

Anyhow the guy who started the conversion Pablo Gringon, a Brazilian student over here in the UK at the time had done a basic job of a conversion that was sort of running but not road legal. Or tidy. Or very practical come to that.

I have got rid of some excess weight by removing some more of the parts that were needed for an internal combustion engine but are not required for the electric conversion. This included grinding a lot of excess bracketry and excess metal off the engine and gearbox mounts. When I came to reconnect the battery pack there was a BIG flash and a bang and the smell of brimstone. Fortunately there was not a grinding of teeth, and the gearbox and motor escaped unharmed. Obviously something had shorted, but patient checking, rechecking and checking again failed to show up anything amiss. I was puzzled, as I hadn't touched anything on the circuit, I had simply touched and removed mechanical stuff.


It turns out that the circuit breaker that Pablo had burnt out and bridged temporarily with a wire type fuse (well a bit of wire to be honest) had bridged to earth, causing a short circuit. I have temporarily repaired this temporary repair whilst I await a new circuit breaker from the USA. (Ebay $5 plus shipping) Far cheaper than I can buy one here.




Meanwhile the tidy up of the engine bay continues. There is a diode pack to protect the motor controller from surges, which must be isolated from the chassis to prevent it earthing. It needs to be fixed down somehow, but how when all the car is metal? Well this is a Heath Robinson sponsored project and low budget solutions have to be found so a Tupperware (other brands are available) sandwich box was acquired for about £2 and fixed tot he firewall with self tappers covered with those plastic caps that furniture makers use on cheap DIY furniture. This ensures they cannot come into contact with the diode pack. Simples! The diode pack itself has a large aluminium heat sink and has been screwed to the lid of said sandwich box, also protected from earthing by the same plastic caps. The lid then fastens securely to the box with the diode pack inside, isolated and waterproof. Brilliant! The whole lot sit nicely behind the 12volt accessory battery. Factory it is not, but other then it's obvious humble origins as a sandwich box it looks the part and functions perfectly. Black would suit it better though, maybe a lick of paint at some point?


Next job is to complete the "filler" point. There will be an industrial typ
e three pin socket installed in the fuel filler flap area. I have already recessed such a socket in place using ...... yes you guessed it a tupperware box (other brands are available)
This willl be fibre glassed into place from behind, but will allow a fly lead 20 metre cable to connect the car to the nearest 240 volt three pin outlet

for charging via the on board charger. Removing the remnant of the petrol tank filler neck and associated gubbings necessitated the temporary removal of the wheel arch liner and trim but was far from difficult. The part finished result can be seen above and shows that the filler flap still closes normally when not in use, keeping the car standard in appearance.

It is interesting to note as I work on the Chinky that for a 15 year old car it has very little body corrosion. That is because they were galvanised in the factory, another plus point in choosing this little car for the conversion. Light weight, rustproof and cheap to buy used.

Tomorrow I hope to get the on board charger installed under the bonnet. This is another low cost Heath Robinson Bodgit and Scarper solution. Watch this space.
































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Back to Basics

When I worked in engineering, over 20 years ago now, we would, on occasions, take a bottle or six of Whiskey, a pad of paper and a Biro and "brainstorm" ideas to get solutions to a problem. No matter how far fetched, stupid, ill conceived or seemingly impossible the idea might seem at the time it got jotted down, sketched and discussed. Then it would be shelved until we were sober enough to look at it more seriously.
A similar approach was used in an advertising agency I worked in for a very short time, although I seem to recall the whiskey was substituted with Vodka, probably for fashionable reasons. Regardless the outcome was still the same.
The informal nature of these sessions, coupled with the removal of normal inhibitions due to the excess alcohol consumed meant that some fantastic results came out of those meetings. As well as some monumental hangovers the next day.
This may or may not explain why the British, and in particular, the Scots are the most prolific inventors on the planet. Think of almost anything - we invented it. We once lead the civilised world with our engineering prowess. Now the Germans and the Japanese, and more lately the Koreans and Chinese have all the major engineering industry. But can you name anything they ever invented? No. I thought not. They are able to take our ideas, miniaturise them, improve them and mass produce them but they are not by nature inventive. The Japanese gave us Karaoke (literal translation - to sing badly whilst drunk) but they still make walls out of paper and eat uncooked fish for Christs sake. The Chinese make a damned good takeaway, but haven't even invented cutlery yet. And the Koreans eat dogs because they haven't invented burgers yet, unless of course it's a dogburger.
As for the Germans, they are so starched and efficient they could never indulge in any drunken brainstorming - they would consider it a waste of time and effort.
So, if we are the only ones actually doing any inventing what hope is there for the future of the motor car? Over 100 years of building cars, and yet we have not progressed the basic design that much at all. When the internal combustion engine was invented we basically strapped an engine onto a cart and left it at that. A four wheeled Bogey, propelled along by a series of small controlled explosions (thanks Jeremy Clarkson for that simple explanation) A most wasteful way of getting around, the infernal combustion engine is around 30% efficient even today, with much of it's fuel escaping unburnt, and much of the energy released by burning said fuel being wasted creating heat and noise.And when it goes wrong, you end up potentially with an external combustion engine, a far more dangerous and uncontrollable beast altogether.
Which is why project Mint starts to make some sense. Clean silent electric power with no tailpipe emissions. Yes I know the electric has to come from somewhere else, and it's probably coal or oil being burned, or possibly nuclear stuff which my children will have to do something with or else face a life with extra ears, and toes and a permanent tan. But I can kid myself it comes from free solar or wind power and feel all smug about it. And i can also pretend that the war in Iraq and Afghanistan really is about weapons of mass destruction, Al Queda and the destruction of the Taliban, and not about oil at all, which of course it isn't.

So anyhow, back to my point which is this. If Vauxhall, Ford and company want to survive and not face annihilation my the likes of Toyota, Hyundai and Kia, plus the new threats from China Brilliance, Tata and Reva etc, they really need to get back to basics and brainstorm the whole idea of personal transport from afresh.

I have my pen and paper ready, and if they will sponsor me the single malt I am only too willing to help them out.

Project Mint - update

I did a little more work on the EV project today, and can confirm that the controller seems to be the source of the short. The motor works fine, tested by the inadvisable method of connecting jump leads to the battery and straight to the motor by passing the control circuit. Don't try this at home - fried motor is a distinct possibility, as are broken legs if the car is in gear. But hey, if you're not living on the edge you're probably taking more than your fair share of the planet.
I have stripped out the remnants of the fuel supply system, all the gubbings from the petrol filler flap and vent tubes tot he tank have been stripped and junked leaving me with a nice hole in the side of the car which will be filled with the socket for the charging system. I have measured up and roughed up the three pin industrial style socket and with a little cutting of the inner panel it will fit nicely inside the filler aperture, and by chance an old Tupperware box is just the right size to set it into to keep it all water proof. (it will be reinforced with fibreglass and painted, so the sandwiches inside don't show!) It should look like a neat and professional job once done.
With the motor controller condemned I will probably have to bite the bullet and buy a professionally manufactured one - about £300 for a 72 volt controller. Then it's a case of wiring up and sorting out new batteries.
I can easily fit in 6 x 12volt car batteries to give a 72 volt system. It's just a case of whether 72 volts is enough. The alternative is to use 12 x 6 volt forklift batteries, which hold more power and are smaller, so easier to fit in the car, the downside being they are heavier.

Why is it called project Mint? Because it has no emmisions, so it's liek a breath of fresh air, rather like a mint.

Blackout Birmingham

According to the announcement when I switch on my Sky box, leaving it on Standby saves energy - enough to light a city the size of Birmingham, it says. Now I'm all for saving energy, but if you are going to use that sort of persuasion surely you should be pitching a city with some culture and a bit of panache. Okay Birmingham is our second biggest city supposedly, but why not use several smaller more worthy cities to make the point. If i'm going to light up a city by going to the efforts of reaching down the back of the sideboard to reach the plug, then please let it be York, or Edinburgh, or somewhere pretty in the Cotswolds, or maybe a huge part of the North Yorkshire moors, maybe every town and village in the dales. But not bloody Birmingham.

In fact join me in my campaign to black out Birmigham and make sure you leave your sky box on standby tonight!

Project Mint

Tuesday saw me finally heading to Manchester to collect my latest E-Bay buy, a partially completed electric FIAT Cinquecento. As i struggle to say that dumb Italian word convincingly I will refer to it as the 500, or as Project Mint (Minty) as he has now been christened.
My top bid was £250, but I actually bought at £215, less I suppose the 6 pence I found in the car when I cleared the junk out of it. So £214.94 is my outlay so far. £50 for trailer hire plus my petrol costs saw "Minty" heading Hull wards.

The car has been partially converted to electricity, and is (was?) driving, but needs many problems resolving beofre it is roadworthy. A brief list of the obvious faults is as follows;

Ply showing through on one tyre, puncture probably fatal in another - four new tyres seem likely.
The horn doesn't work.
Neither do the headlights. Probably because the bulbs are missing.
Or the front indicators - well they do work after a fashion - they flash the sidelights - an earthing problem and no big deal, easily fettled..
The windscreen washers don't wash - although I found the pipe todat which has a joint whcih has broken, so a simple connector will fix that for pennies.
The drivers seat has a big split in it, so will need a new seat or a set of cheapy covers. I rather fancy a bucket racing seat.

That's the basics for the car as such - now to the electrical system,

The batteries are fitted under the rear seat, in a cradle, accesibkle by a hole cut in the floor - and that''s it. The rear seat passengers are liable to get wet and cold when water starts coming in. I plan to fabricate some sort of box to cradle the batteries and keep them spill proof and secure.There is room for four more batteries in the boot, a rude framework has been constructed but it empty at present. There is one battery under the bonnet, so it's running on 60 volts at presnt, but was intended for 72 on the controller, there is room for another 2 batteries under the bonnet (three more actually after a little tidying) and possibly four more behind the bumper. Possibly 16 in total which would give 192 Volts of power! A seperate 12 volt battery maintains the original 12 volts system for lights radio etc, and this battery is tiny compared with the 72 a/h batteries used for the motor. I have two options - Replace it with a larger capacity battery for more longevity (the car has electric windows and will need some sort of 12 volt heater arrangement, plus a stero - I can't live without one, plus it has to take care of heated rear window, lights and wipers) The second option is to put a further traction battery in it's place taking it to up to 204 volts, and then using a converter to supply down to 12 volts for the standard systems - thsi is not my favourite route as converting voltage means loses in efficiency.

Next the car need some sort of charging system rigging up. I intend to have an on board charger of some sort, so that it is simply a case of plugging in to a three pin socket. The car has come with a rather Heath Robinson 240v to 110 v site supply with a variable resistor attached in the supply line so that you can reduce from 110 volt down to whatever you need, measured with a handheld ameter or voltmeter. This will probably be replaced with a bespoke charger once the final voltage is decided on. I think 72 volts shoudl be enough on such a small car, and any extra batteries can be mounted in paralell as a backup reserve supply, rather than serial to increas the voltage. That would give extended range.

After the charging is sorted I need some sort of heater - possible 3 x ceramic heaters, rigged up into the existign heater set up so that the air vents and demister astill work effectively.

Also on the list of to does is a brake vacuum pump system. A bespoke electric vacuum to replace the engine vacuum normally provided by the petrol engine is available at around £250 from Taiwan. However a scrapyard may yet provide an alternative option as I am advised that the Mazda MX5 used an electric vacuum pump for that very purpose. The brakes do work, as I backed th ecar off the trailer under power and foud they eeded a good hard shove but did stop the car. The vacuum servo would make it a whole lot easier.

Anyhow today saw project Mint start with a bang (well a spark anyway). I have ripped out a load of gubbings not needed, like the air filter bracket and support whcih were part of the gearbox mount - a very heavy over engineered bracket for what it did. Angle grinder came in very useful thanks. Various other brackets and useless bits came off giving a net weight saving of 6kg once I'd weighed it up.

I also started tidying up the poor wiring of the car but I must have got something wrong.... the battery pack was almost flat last night, but still gave off one hell of a spark when I attahced it - there's a short there somewhere, not anything I've done toady sop far as I can tell, but big enough to melt the battery terminal when I connected. It'll have to wait until Saturday at soonest until I can trace things and see what has gone wrong.

Project Mint

Okay a few of you may remember that in my youth I drove a 5.2 litre Chrysler Le Baron. This was before Global Warming was invented (I still don't beleive it myself) and was before I was married with a mortgage and kids. At the time I didn;t worry about only doing 15 miles per gallon because petrol was only about £2 a Gallon, not £2 a litre which is what we are heading for now.
As time moves on I have gone downsize in cars and have tried various alternative options to save money and as an unintended sid effect, maybe just saving the planaet too. First I drove a diesel for a while, which was a revelation in terms of economy and torque, but that old Escort ran out of puff just when you needed it, so that on a spirited drive cross country you almost felt like you were rowing it, you changed gear so often. Next, influenced by the fleet at work i had an LPG converted Volvo followed by a Jeep also running on ther cheap gassy stuff. Okay, cheap but both were not without their problems - The Volvo once exploded under my boses window (the car park was on the first floor of the building and his office was right overhead on the stilted part of the building. This very nearly caused a terrorism alert. The Jeep decided it like LPG so much that it refused to run on petrol - a problem on holiday as we were in Keilder Forest a long way from an LPG station.
So from there I went to a microcar running a diesel engine which to me even meaner and greener I converted to run on Vegetable Oil, which I then secured a free supply of from a local Cafe. When Kermit croaked he was replaced by a Citroen AX, and more lately by Mervin, the Fiesta Courier Van whose bargain basement adventures you may read of below. Mervin loves Veg Oil, and returns the equivalent of 80 mpg in cost comparison terms using new Veg oil instead of Diesel (my free source at the cafe dried up when it closed)
However, in seeking newer even greener alternatives to save money, the planet and to provide further entertainment I am please to annouince the arrival, all the way from Ebayland, project Mint - my first all electric vehicle! read more above.

Mervin Motors on (continued)

For a long while, since last May in fact, Mervin has had a fault with his starter motor. On rare occasions, usually at the most inconvenient times he woud fail to start. More accurately he would fail to try to start. The starter just wouldn't engage and turn at all. At first I suspected an immobilser fault. Mervin was ex-British Airways and had two different alarm systems and a tracker installed, so his wiring is somewhat haywire, and I suspected the fault lay there.
Strangley the problem would manifest itself initially only at B & Q, which was wierd, as we have two branches locally and it happened consistently at both. You could start from cold, drive to B & Q and on attemptign to drive away with a warm engine the starter would fail to engage. He would start no problem with a push start. After suspecting a faulty battery, then the immobiliser triggered by some wierd radio mast interference (Both B & Q's have phone masts nearby) I eventually began to experience the problem elsewhere and diagnosed the starter solenoid as the source of the problem. The age old cure was applied (hitting it wiv a big 'ammer) and this worked for a while. I got used to parking front end out in case I had to push start, and facing the car downhill.
The problem occurred maybe every 6 or 7 days, and only ever when the car was warm, so it didn't let me down that often and always started easily with a push, which didn't bother me unduly, Mervins a lighweight and easily push started single handedly. It does however cause the nine year old daughter embarrasment at dance class apparently.
A new starter motor was going to be a major investment given Mervins street value of about £200 (including road tax and a full tank of fuel) so I held out until the day he let me down four times running as did local errands. I got him home and on examing the situation, sure enough the solenoid had jammed completely.
Thursday saw me stripping the starter motor off the van, not an easy feat in itself, involving as it did the removal of half the engine mount, but it came off eventually. I spent a morning cleaning the solenoid assembly and honing the bore, which was glazed and dirty looking. A spray of Asda brand WD40 and reassembly saw the car starting perfectly for oh, all of three times before the main starter motor failed to turn. The solenoid worked beautifully, if i may say so, clicking away nicely. The problem I later learned was that when the wiring is disturbed, the internal connections in the starter motor are disturbed too, and are often so oxidised and corroded that the delicate contact fractures. Now whilst I know enough about 'lectrickery to clean and rebuild the solenoid the main motor was beyond my ken.
Fortunatley we have a garage. Sisons, nearby in Hull who are motor rewind specialists. Could they rebuild my starter - yes they could, and at a reasonable price too. Better still, for the smae money £65, they could sell me a ready recondtioned one off the shelf on an exchange basis. Deal done.

New starter fitted and Mervin now starts like an eager thing that wants to start and get on with the day. In the recent past I have had to start him almsot immediatley I stuck the key in, otherwise the solenoid jammed as it warmed up. But that made starting difficult becasue the veg oil heater didn;t have time to reach temperature. Now it does, meaning cleaner easier and considerably quicker starts. Half a turn of the engine has got to be better at 6 a.m. than a diesel churning over for 30 or 40 seconds at a time 7 or 8 times, spluttering and coughing. Hopefully my neighbours are grateful.

Whilst in the fettling mood I also discovered that half of the oil heater wasn;t working due to a blown fuse - probably also a result of all the cold cranking. That was promptly changed.

And another irritating fault was fixed. Mervin has a bulkhead with a slot for the rear view and "emergency access" about twice the size of the average letter box. This allows a restricted but useful view with the interior mirror. Or at least ot would do if the rear view mirror didn't bounce aorund hanging off the sticky pad which fixes it to the windscreen. Well, with a further investment of a pound for a new sticky pad and a few minutes to clean the old one off and fix the new I now have a rock steady view to the rear. Which is nice. If I had been able to see behind me, and into the back of the van I wouldn't have brought home 6 parking cones and a bag of road grit which a colleague kindly loaded into the back as a joke!

With Mervin runing fine I now have to find another project to spend time on and I think Ebay might just have provided me with the very thing. Watch this space.

Mervin motors on.

For those following the trials of Mervin, my bargain basement van, here are more tales of his adventures.

Mervin threwa wobbler week before last when he was asked to do a cross town journey at rush hour. Normally he performs perfectly, although he doesn't like early morning starts - rather like me in that respect. And we both hate rush hour. This particular rush hour was a doozer though. A fire at a waste recycling centre had caused half the roads in the city to be closed off due to the nasty smoke and fumes, with the result that all the traffic has seemingly been pushed onto the one cross town road remaining. What should have been a 40 minute jouney on a normal day had stretched to a good hour and a half of sitting motionless and carwling an inch or so at a time, with about 4 miles still to go to reach an important conference venue when Mervin threw what is best described as a hissy fit. He got all hot and bothered and leaked his coolant all over the tarmac. With the temperature gauge needle trying to bend around the red stop I limped him into a filling station and raised the bonnet. Examination showed no coolant left at all and a tell tale brown stain on the header tank return hose. Closer examination showed that this had been rubbing against the metal clip of the air filter box for 15 years, with the end result of the sidewall of the hose weakening and eventually splitting under the excess heat and pressure of the rush hour crawl.

Now I may have touched before on the topic of modern filling stations and this one was no different. It stocked something like 42 different flavours of crisps, overpriced curled up sandwiches and lukewarm fizzy drinks, but nothing remotely useful to the stranded motorist. However a short walk away was a bicycle shop. Now there is an industry that looks after it's customers. They sell bikes AND the bits to repair them. Sadly they did not have the header tank hose for a 1994 Ford Courier diesel van, although they did, for some strange reason have a Jaguar cycle on display. Ford owned Jaguar for a while, but none of the parts on the bike looked compatable with Mervins chassis. I was however able to purchase a puncture repair outfit and role of elecrtrical insulation tape with a get you home bodge in mind.

Heath Robinson inspired repair then took place. After allowing a suitable cooling period lashings of glue and a puncture repair patch were applied to the split hose and a makeshift bandage crafted from tape. Attached to the useless filling station was one of those Hand Wash car wash places, absent of any of the usual Migrant staff (well is was only 9.45 by now) and as they generally sit around drinking between scrathing your paintwork with a moist rag I managed to find a couple of useful empty bottles with whcih to fill up the radiator system using the leaky tap conveniently attached to the nearby wall of what was once the mechanised car wash, before Polish migrants were invented to do it by hand (oh err!)

This bodge worked so well that I haven't bothered to replace the hose. Total repair cost £2.

Mervin was so over joyed with this mechanical attention that he promptly failed to proceed again with another problem more about which follows.

And again....

Further to my last post, add electrocuted (again) October 2009. Of course, I'm getting used to it by now. This time it was whilst decorating the Hall. It seems my outdoor doorside lamp is wired throguh two different trip fuses on two circuits. Note to self - turn BOTH off in future.

Immortality

Immortality - hmmm. That's probably not spelt right, but hey - I've a lifetime to perfect it.
I touched on the subject of my immortal soul in my last post. So let's examine this shall we. What makes me think I am immortal?
Well it's like this. I cannot remember a time when I didn't exist, therefore logically I have always existed. Other, older people (and we know what their memories are like don't we?) say they CAN remember a time when I didn't exist. They allege that they saw me born, or growing up or whatever. But THEY are mere mortals, so can we trust them? For all I know I imagined them all.
Of course, the true test of immortality is can you be killed? Well, this is possibly tempting fate, but I am begginning to have my doubts. A brief catalouge of my near death expereiencesl;
1971 - fall from a second storey window - outcome - a chipped tooth.
1972 - electrocuted whilst plugging in a toy train set. No effect.
1973 - electrocuted whilst plugging in a toy train set. No effect. Although by now I was going off the train set.
1980 - cycle accident into parked car whilst reading newspaper whilst cycling- no injury. Sunday supplement torn.
1982 - head on cycle accident. No injury.
1986 - throttle jams wide open on motorcycle - no injury. Bike a write off.
1987 - narrow miss with coach in single track Scottish Mountain road - I swear my two nearside wheels were over fresh air as we went around the bend to miss the coach coming the other way in the dark.
1989 - car into ditch - no injury - reversed out, and completed journey!
1992 - head on collision with stolen car - slight disorientation, mild concussion.
1993 - Minor smoke inhalation in fire rescue. 2 others died, I survived.
1994 - electrocuted again whilst decorating friends flat. Of course I'm getting used to it by now.
1995 - Collision with bus which pulls out at junction into path of my speeding patrol car. No injury.
1995 - shot in knee. That hurt a bit.
1997 - Got married (okay that doesn't really count, but it hurt me terribly financially and has done ever since)
2002 - Broken ribs, twice, in fights with violent people.
2005- fell down cliff whilst on active coastguard rescue duty. Mild bruising to both thighs.
2009 - Almost drowned in sink hole in Dent Dale Valley.

This is just a breif sunnary of the things I can remember, I'm sure there are many more. Like the time I avoided hypothermia whilst sleeping drunk in a hedge oustide a mates house.

I now feel it is quite reasonable to wallpaper around a socket without necessarily removing the fuse from the system or switching off the supply. I know a man who changes household radiators without draining the heating system down first, but that's just silly - you're going to get wet, but not dead.

Any how the uopshot is, I am (possibly) immortal (so far) and unless fate happens to be watching and decides to make an example of me I shall remain immortal until the day I die.

3 Peaks Trip

Left, me at the Top of Pen-Y-Ghent, and right, "the evil brooding bastard"

Okay, I'll conced it wa the 2 peaks. I did Pen-Y-Ghent, or as a friend would have it, "that evil brooding bastard." And I did Whernside. I just didn't get round to Ingleborough on account of really bad blisters. That makes me sound rather like a wimp doesn't it? I mean, Douglas Bader never complained of blisters did he? Well he wouldn't.

To be fair, on arrival at Ingleton, no sooner had I set up the caravan than I was off on the Ingleton Falls trail, a 6 1/2 mile stroll, which started the blebs on my feet. On the way back to the pitch I passed by three pubs and was forced to have a pint in each one. Then It was back to the caravan for an evening meal of chicken ding (chicken shoved in the microwave until it goes "ding") and a couple of episodes of Life on Mars with the strat of a wottle of Bhiskey.

Next day was Pen-Y-Ghent and Whernside, and I would have gone on to complete Ingleborough, honestly, had it not been for the terrible blistering from which I am only now starting to recover.

Pen-Y-Ghent of course has two ways up. The shorter and steeper way which involves a longish walk gradually sloping uphill then a bugger of a climb to reach the top - or the other way which is a long and steep ascent, where the summit is constantly moving around and getting further away. I chose the latter, then came down the steep way. next time I might go in reverse.

I blame my boots for the blisters. When I was a kid there was a magazine called Tiger, unless memory fails. One of the comic strips in this was called "Billy's Boots" the storyline of which was that this kid called Billy had and old pair of football boots which had previously belonged to a famous footballer and which gave him magical footballing skills. My walking boots are pretty much the same. The are now about 21 years old, possibly much older, i think I bought them when I was about 20 but I might have been 18. They are heavy, leather and have seen many miles, the soles are now wearing quite thin. My work colleagues, decked out in modern Teflon and Gortex feather weight boots refer to them as antiques, and they are possibly right. They are certainly now past their best (the boots that is, not my work colleagues) hecne the blisters I'm guessing. But if I have to break in a new pair that means more blisters, am I right?

Anyway Thursday dawned bright and sunny and it seemed a shame to waste the day, but I was unable to walk without a fair degree of discomfort. Fortunately, all was not lost; I had taken along my trusty mountain bike. I decided a ride through to Dent was in order, a 20 mile round trip. For September it was quite decidely hot and sunny, and it wasn't long before I had stripped to just a pair of shorts, which as it turned out was a fortunate decision. As I stopped for lunch it seemed like a good idea to dip my feet in the stream passing through the Dent Valley (The River Dent? - I don't know?) How refreshing! I stowed by bottles of fresh orange juice in there too and chilled them as I ate my lunch.

Now for those who don't know it, the road through to Dent is a single track unclassified road, and probably sees maybe five cars a day travel down it, so it's ideal for cycling although hilly, it is remote in the extreme. This may have a bearing on the life changing situation I found myself in - had things gone differently it could have been many days before my bike and body were found! Having finished lunch and still hot and sweaty I decided to paddle a little in the stream. being no fool, and a weak swimmer at best I wanted to remain well within my depths, and thought it safe as I could see the bottom. Having wandered up the stream at knee depth I was about to turn aroudn when suddenly and without any wanring the bottom disappered! I reckon I went down about 15 feet in a "sink hole" and disorientated, searching for daylight and which was was up, under water for maybe 35 seconds before gasping for breath, I surfaced again. My life flashed beofre my eyes I can say! Well I think it was my life, it had been edited quite badly, and a lot of the more boring stuff had been cut, but I recognised a lot of it.

I had considered crossing this same stream/river with my bike to get to a wooded area which looked pleasantly shaded from the hot sun - had I done so I would have had my bike and rucksack to fight with as I went under. I think back now and wonder , if I had hit my head, or caught my foot in a rock or something, would I now be writing my orbituary (metaphorically speaking of course) Given the remoteness of the location, no one would have seen me go under, and no one knew I was there, so no one would have rescued me or even come loooking for me for many days. It makes you think. I could have drowned or worse.

It also makes me unafraid of the future, not fearless as such, but certainly thankful to be still here and ready to make the best of the extra time I have now. On the other hand it confirms my suspicion that I am (probably) immortal.

Dent Railway station, is allegedly the highest mainline railay station in England. So a visit was in order. And there is was, certianly bloody high if the hills I had to go up where any measure.

Thursday night saw much consumption from the wottle of bhiskey and more episodes of Life on Mars!

All in all a memorable excursion, and one which has a part three to come, as Ingleborough has yet to be tackled. October half term looks a likely time to try again - with new boots!

Update. I haven't posted anything for months

Mervin passed his MOT so will be staying on the fleet for a while longer yet. I have yet top get round to painting his left side, but might get it done in the next two weeks while I'm on leave.
On the other hand I might not as I have the hallway to redecorate, and I set off on Tuesday to climb the Three Yorksihire Peaks. I'm taking the Caravan for four days, so I should get in the walking, some cycling and maybe a little beer drinking!
I have just got back from 3 days with the family in the Caravan in three peaks country, staying at Bentham, not far of Settle and a stones through from Inglebourough. The weather was not too good. It rained once, starting on the Wednesday we arrived and continuing until Saturday when we left. We did get to visit White Scar Caves though, a fasciniating visit under Ingleborough, and a prelude to climbing it.
The site we stayed on was rather soggy, and the facilities basic Life on Mars era.Cheap though at a tenspot per night. One cheeky camper arrived at about 10p.m. then buggered off next morning about 5.30, managing to avoid payment altogether. I doubt he got his moneys worth though, as the view was great when the rain stopped and it was clear enough to see the hills. It was Saturday mornign before I realised they had wind turbines on top - it was too murky to see them before then.

The big family holiday was to Hannover, Germany, by coach, with the inlaws. Not as bad as it sounds. The coach had slightly less leg room than was comfrotable, but it wasn't quite cattle class, and the in laws are great, i get along with them better than i do my own folks, probably because they are normal people, whilst my parents are almost certainly aliens. Anyhow, I was ashamed of my pidgin German that I learnt at school, particularly as all the German folk spoke perfect English, so it has inspired me to learn German properly. I am on lesson 6 as I type, and listening to the Ipod in my sleep to learn subliminally. I don't know if that sort of thing works but it's worth a try.

Decorating the hall will be a major undertaking. I don't do things by half, so it will involve plumbing in a new radiator, replastering the top landing by the bathroom door, which was moved when I refitted the bathroom (see an earlier post) replacing all the skirting and architraves, a new laminate floor and a new storage solution for the understairs area.... maybe fantastic sliding doors to hide all the clutter. And a new doorbell (how that got on the list is beyond me, but 'er indoors has added it to my list) Lots of builders trade magnolia will be used, but the lower hallway will be papered - it has been chosen and bought already. Oh yeah, and the single electric socket will be replaced with a double. And the light probably changed. With extra lights fitted under the stairs in the new cupboard. Possibly those battery LED ones.

After that it will be the front room, a similar major undertaking, which will involve further electrical work with additional sockets - you can never have enough it seems, a new fireplace and gas fire and a full redecoration job. And a new sofa and furniture. And then the dining room needs new table and chairs. Problem is, with all this time off work I'm not earningn the overtime to pay for it all.

Oh well. To bed. Tommorow is another day. Last day with the kids before they go back to school, and I go off to Horton in Ribblesdale to climb mountains. Maybe we will follow the tradition we started last year and go for one last bike ride to close the summer. Whats's the weather going to do I wonder? Rain seems likely!

Credit Crunch? What credit crunch?

Apparently there is some sort of financial crisis going on. This means that rich people who have saved their money are earning less interest than they used to and may now have to work for a living instead. Conversely those who work for a living and have no savings, mainly due to paying exhorbitant taxes to fund the lifestyle of the idle rich, now find that their mortgages have gone down, meaning that they have more disposable income to save, although there is no point as there is no interest paid on savings, so we may as well pay off the mortgage even quicker, so that we can retire earlier.
So to summarise, the rich are getting poorer, and the workers can retire sooner. And this is a bad thing?
So how do the unemployed fare in all this? By and large the great unwashed have no savings and no mortgage, so provided the price of Stealla does not increase they have nothing to worry about.
Sadly, a few people will lose their jobs as there is a downturn in industry. But our woderful government have a solution. If I understand correctly we got into this position because the banks lent money they didn't have to people who couldn't pay it back. Ironically our Government beleive that by encouraging people to spend money they don;t have we can buy our way out of tis recession. So we have the scrappage scheme. This means that if you are poor enough to own a car more than 11 years old (it has to be ten years old and you have to have owned it for more than a year) you can trade it for a brand new one and get £1000 from the government matched by £1000 discount from the dealer to buy a new car. This will support the British motor industry (What British motor industry?)
So how many pople driving for example a ten year old Volvo have £14,000 stuffed undeer their matresses to buy a new one, even with a £2000 subsidy? Sorry but if I had that sort of money I'd be paying a huge chunk off my mortgage. So, the people buying these new cars will be buying on credit. Borrowing money that the banks don't have and which they can't gaurantee will be repaid....... Hmmm. Haven't we been there before.

Ever had one of those days?

Sometimes I wonder why I do this job.

If you thought being a traffic cop was just about driving fast cars, getting a suntan on your right arm and issuing speeding tickets you'd be wrong. Apart from attending serious and fatal accidents, trying to keep an antiquanted road network going and issuing all those summonses and tickets traffic cops also attend and deal with every other policing situation you can imagine. Unexploded bombs, fires, chemical spills, drunks, drugged people, suicides, fights, robberies, muggings, burglaries and of course every officers favourite the "Domestic Dispute."

So it was that last night I found myself nearest patrol to the "Domestic Dispute." Not only nearest, but also the only available patrol. A male was reported trying to kick the door in at a property. Approaching the scene I passed a male on the street nearby, casually dressed in clothing which suited a nightclub nearby frequented by the student fraternity - a grey hoody, jeans, long hair, 7 stone wet through - typical mosha! Certainly not the type to be kicking a door in, you would have thought. He was smoking a fag, and only gave me a casual glance as I drove by.

Arriving at the address I found what appeared to be two young women in the house, with the windows trashed and both in a distressed state. They quickly calmed down as a result of my unique brusque approach and described the very lad I had seen as the offender. He was, as expected the boyfriend of one of the ladies, who despite my initial appraisal turned out not to be a lady after all but a young man! (although many a jury would be fooled!)

With the description obtained I set off to locate the villain of the piece, confident that he would be hanging about around the corner where I had last seen him. Sure enough, he was lurking in a ginnel, yards from whwere I had last seen him. Unfortunatley he chose to run.
Now any criminal will tell you he has a greater chance of escaping than being caught. There are many reasons for this. Firstly, he is generally 20 or so years the juniour of the person chasing him. He has the fear of being caught which spurs him on. He is dressed in a street clothing - trainers and a tracksuit, whilst the bloke chasing him has about a stone and a half of stab vest and belt equipment to carry and is wearing boots. Plus he is on his own turf and knows the area far better than the flat foot chasing him. He probably hasn't just eaten a 10" Meat Feast pizza either, although there is an odds on chance he has drunk a few cans of Stella.

He ran down the tenfoot behind the houses, and not being drawn in to a chase over uneven surfaces I ran on the pavement in front of the houses instead, hoping to cut him off at the next alley. Running into said alley there was no sign of him, but I knew there was another track that ran at right angles towards a large park and waste ground area and ran that way. Sure enough after a short while I could see him running ahead of me, and I was gaining.

Now comes the problem. In a motor pursuit you have streets and landmarks to give your location. Running across a disused railway line in the dark with nothing but trees and grassland you very quickly loose your bearings. The suspect darted into a wooded copse, and disappeared from view. Experience tells me that in this position the best thing to do is stand still at the place you last saw him, and try and melt intot the shadows. Chances are, the suspect is out of breath, not far off and trying to do exactly the same thing, whilst trying to hide. I asked for a dog unit - as always several minutes away, and air support - the helicopter was at base 20 miles away but would launch and assist.

Rummaging aropund the bushes and trees my brain suddenly kicked into gear - hadn't the original emergency call said he was armed with a knife? So, let me get this right. I didn't know where I was, I was in the dark, on my own, with no immediate air support, no ground support and I didn't know where the suspect was. He could have escaped, or he could be 4 feet away, deciding where exactly to skewer me. Why was I so keen to catch up with a man armed with knife? All I have is a blunt metal baton - which is probably shorter than his knife!

Things did not improve with the arrival of the helicopter. I had been able to direct it into the wasteland, with a vague idea of where I was - I could see a large chimney nearby and the live railway line that crossed the disused line, plus a housing estate that borders the area, so I could sort of orientate where I was. But how to describe where I was? Normally, in these circumstances I would flash a torch to show the helicopter my position, and give them a staring point to work from. A fine idea in principle, but my million candle power torch was safely stowed on the back seat of the patrol car - now about a mile away. All I had was small hand held LED torch, which at about an inch diameter gave off the same sort of glow as an exhausted glow worm. being LED t gave off almost no heat, so even thermal imaging cameras on the chopper couldn't pick me up easily. Incredibly, after three false starts the chopper crew picked up the faint glow, and began an air search of the area.

At the same time the canine unit arrived, and began a ground search of the shubbery the suspect had last been seen in.

It is perhaps a good time to mention that police dogs, although highly trained, are trained by police officers. They spend many hours attacking police officers - but it's training, and done safely. They do not understand the difference between training and reality. They also do not understand the difference between an officer wearing a heavy protective leather training sleeve and one who is wearing nothing more than a short sleeved polo shirt. They are trained to "hold" a suspect by barking at him, and will only attack and bite if the suspect runs or shows aggression. So, when a police officer, holding a defensive baton, locates the suspect and challenges him to come out of the bushes or be struck by the baton, the police dog sees a man acting aggressively and holding a weapon. It therefore follows it's training and attacks.
I can tell you now it takes a brave man to stand still and face several stone of German Shepherd, particularly one which seemingly has more teeth then Jaws had, when it launches itself at you, grabs an arm and decides to shake. The impulse is to hit it with your baton, or try and run away - but that is the last thing you want to do, as it will only get more aggressive. The best thing to do is stand still and maybe wimper a bit, possibly even cry. It's okay to cry when you have 6 stone of teeth hanging on your arm trying to rip it out of the socket.

Many anglo saxon words were spoken before the dog handler arrived on the scene and commanded the dog to release me. By now the suspect had fled again, and in the melee and confusion I have no idea where he went. I was busy being bitten by friendly fire at the time. I beleive I will heal without a scar.

To really cap the night off it turned out to be one of those domestics where, despite being threatened with a knife, and having his windows trashed the complainant did not want any police action - because he still loves him!

Like I said, sometimes I wonder why I do this job!

Budget - who thought up that one?

Well, what a great budget that was eh?
Let me understand this right. If I am an average motorist who owns a car more than 10 years old, and have owned it for more than a year (i.e. since it was nine year old ...or longer) then I can tradeit in against a brand new car, and the governement will give me £1000, backed up by the motor industry giving me a further £1000, giving a £2000 rebate on a new car. Sounds great. except of course for 2 major problems. One, the motor industry have always given discounts if you ask for them, so all that will happen is that they will absorb the £1000 reduction into the list price of the car, knowing they can the afford to knock £1000 off the sale price. So what should have been a £13,000 car is now a £14,000 car less their discount. With it so far?
The second problem is, hwo many people do you know who drive a ten year old car by choice? Those that can afford a new car buy a new one say every three or four years. Those driving ten year old cars do so because that is all they can afford. This scheme wil not suddenly empower them financially to find the £11,000 to go and buy a new car. No, they will continue to run their ten year old car. Or they will take out finance deals to pay for the new car, thus returning us to the state we have just had, where people are borrowing money they can;t possibly afford to pay back!
Of course the GREENS are happy, because old cars are being crushed and old cars are as we all know dirty and smelly and pollute the atmosphere...... well don't be fooled. The majority of pollution a car will cause is in it;s manufacture, not in it's use. It is far greener to eke as much mileage as is possible out of a car once it has been manufactured, tahn to scrap it and make a new one.
Another concern is our great motoring heritage, and the huge cottage industry that supports it. This scheme may well support jobs in the manufacturing side of the motor industry, but it is a real kick in the teeth of the small restoration company, and the back street garages that make a living out of servicing and MOT testing the older and classic motors. If we drive older cars off the road (no pun intended) we dry up the work for these small businesses.
Ten years may well be the expected lifespan of a Eurobox produced by the modern factories of France, Korea, Japan and (shudder to think of it) China, but even the crap turned out by Rover in it's death throes will comfrtably see out 15 years if not 20 with regular servicing and a little TLC. Volvos, Saabs, BMW's, most VW's many Fords and almost all Jaguars will comfortably last 25 to 30 years - it's only fashion and consumer pressure that has made us change them so frequently in the first place. You have only to look at Cyprus, with it's admittedly kinder climate to see that even the cars of the 1970's when rust proofing was unheard of are still regualr sights on the roads. Cuba is an even bigger inspiration, with cars from the 1950's still in regular use, albeit running more modern LADA engines thanks to the communist regime, but still fettled and fixed to provide daily transport.
Where I wonder do the exoticars sit in the Goverment master plan? Is a 1999 Louts Elise now scrap fodder? Is a 1957 Corvette, in prsitne concours condition a classic worth saving or just a discount off a new Focus?
It's all a scam! The government reckon to have funded sufficent to allow 300,000 "old" cars to be scrapped in this scheme. Lets see what happens in the nest year shall we?

As a post script can I add that my 1994 Ford Fiesta Courier Van would be eligible for this scheme - If I had about £10000 I could trade it in for a new one. The new one would be Diesel engined, and no more economicial or less polluting than the one it replaced. In fact, as mine has already caused it's "production pollutuon" as discussed above and has since been converted to run on used Vegetable Oil it is actually carbon neutral and less polluting than the new one.......
Where, then is the sense in replacing it? Until it suffers a major mechanical failure or fails an MOT I will continue to use it, and unless the Government are willing to up the grants to £10,000, when that day finally comes I will spend another £400 or £500 on one of a simliar age and condition and use that.

Red Dwarf - Return to Earth

Well Red Dwarf was a bit of a damp squid wasn't it? It used to be a triple decker fried egg sandwhich with chilly sauce and chutney - all the ingredients were wrong but somehow it worked. Last night was like four mates who haven't met for 20 years getting together and not really knowing what to say. The absence of studio or canned laughter didn't help as it left an embarassing silence between the dialouge.
Where it used to be peppered with jokes, puns and amusing similies it had a rather feeble exchange of verbals that seemed to be just padding out the scenes. Rimmer reading Practical Classic Car magazine that Chris Barrie now writes for was perhaps supposed to be witty, but could just as easily have been an out take that got put in by mistake
The special effects were similarly disappointing after the big budget of the last few series. This was distinctly broom cupboard and foam cutouts.
I suppose being produced by DAVE instead of the BBC has a lot to do with it. SKY did the same with a one off Blackadder that was similarly lacklustre
I know the boys from the Dwarf aren't gettign any younger, but the magic and zest of the group dynamic seems to have died a premeautre death. When Laurel and Hardy made their last film, Utopia in 1950 they were tired, ageing and recognised as being at the end of their careers. Yet they still managed to make the film sparkle in places. The dwarf crew seem to be just going through the motions. And motions, remember, is a medical term for shit.
This should have been much better. Craig Charles can act well enough to make us think he fancies Liz McDonald for Christs sake! He could at least make an effort to out some animation into the job, like he did in the early series.
Chris Barrie used to raise a laugh with a simple facial expression, what happened? Is he paralysed or something? And where were his wonderful voices?
Kryten appears to have lost his nasal mechanoid voice, and The Cat had all the style and poise of Vicky Pollard.
I hope the remaining two episodes can redeem the Dwarfers and let them go out on a high. I don't want to remember them this way.
Otherwise Return to Earth, the inside of a ping pong ball and the VW Jetta will go down in history as the three least noteworthy things every written about.

Not posted in a while so here's an update on life, the Universe and Everything

As I sit here drunking rim and coke it occurs to me that I have been a negligent blogger for a while, so here is an update on what life has been doing to me.
The Credit crunch. On the whole this is a GOOD thing. For me at least. Allow me to explain. I have very little by the way of savings.
Because I worked an interest free credt card agreement just before I remortaged in October I had £6300 on 0% credit. It would have been silly to pay off 0% credit, so I banked the cash instead, which is now technically savings. I have been paying off an affordable amount of the interest free, reducing it to £5000. Meantime the £6500 which would have been paying off that credit has been earning a small but significant amount of interest in the bank, such that even after borrowing a small sum from myself I still have a profit of £54.47 to show.
Additionally, despite owing a mortgage of £122,000 my outgoings are now a mere £751 a month instead of £1000 in October. This means I can make overpayments to make up for the poor performance of my endowments which are failing because of the credit crunch. Still with me on this? Basically, although I had a payrise of less than inflation, and my earnings are eroded due to government incometence, I am able, due to Government incompetance, to make additional payments to make up for the endowments that due to Government incompetance have failed to perform as well as they might, if, of course we had a competent Government, who had controlled inflation better. And the banks.
Am I the only one confused by the Government Policy on this? If I print money, it's called forgery. If the Government print money it's called "Quantitive easing"
Then there's the Council Tax. This has gone up by 3.9% when inflation, we are told, was running at 3%, and my pay rise (or ct depending on your viewpoint) was 2.5%. I wrote to Stephen Parnaby, leader of East Riding of Yorkshire Council, and his response is that Council Tax has gone up for a number of reasons. One reaso is that more people ae living in the county! Well, excuse me, but if more people are living here, then surely they each pay council tax? More people paying should mean, on econmoies of scale, that council tax can be REDUCED!
perhapsERYC are actively encouraging non taxpayers into the area? The unemployed, students, disabled etc. It certainly appears so. Whenever I go into a supermarket car park you can't move for all the motabity cars, driven by people who are fat, lazy and incompetant. I have no issue with the genuinely disbaled. but those who have acheived disabilty status by drinking, drugtaking and eating to excess do not deserve to be supported by the taxpayers.

I don't care to name them. I don't judge them. I just grade them and smite them, swiftly and surely and by the wrath of God.

Well I would if only smiting were legal.

So what else is going on?

My Vegetable powered van runs on, smelling of chips and generally being very economical thank you. I still have to pay a stupid amount of road tax, not only for the van, but also NOT to use my ther car wcih stays in the gage NOT polluting the planet. I worked out that last year it did 4,300 miles The polution it (allegedly) created was less than the lowest polluting suprmini doing 6500 miles. Yet the road tax, to leave it largely at home, was SEVEN times that of the supergreen supermini. How fair is that?

Morever, the "green" vegetrian in his Peugeot 102or whatever probably FLIES to Majorca orsoem exotic holiday destination, polltuing the atmosphere with aviation fuel. I on the other hand holiday in the U with my caravan, with my "Gas Guzzler" (Which turns out to be greener after all) towing a caravan and upporting the British Economy! Except I don't because owing to all the taxes I pay I can't afford holiday (AGAIN!)

Oh well. There must be a General Election due soon. Guess where my votes going?

Solution to rush hour congestion

Normally I work shifts, so I drive to work in what is termed as "off peak" hours. I still drive during the day, and often through rush hour, but as someone is by then payng me to sit in traffic jams it has never really bothered me.
This week has been different; I have been on a course, working 9 to 5, 830 til 4 and tommorow I'll be 8 until 4. This has meant that I have had to travel in the rush hour in my own time and what a pain it is.
On a 7 a.m. start I can leave home as late at 6.30 and still arrive in a reasonably timely fashion (I am never late, that woudl be plain rude, but I am often timely, arriving just in time) For a 9 a.m. start I set off at 7.40, allowing for a longer jouney across the city of Hull, following the same route to my normal place of work to pick up equipment, then a further 5 miles or so to the training venue. I arrived 10 minutes late. One hour and thirty minutes to travel to work! A whole hour longer than my usual journey, just because i travelled at "rush hour." (Why is it called the rush hour anyway, whenh everything slows down?)
Like many I initially beleived the delay was simply due to an increased volume of traffic, but looking around there was in reality only marginally more traffic than when i usually travel.
To badly quote from the British Rail book of excuses, I concluded that the real reason for the delay was the "wrong sort of driver."
I am purely guessing at the demographics of the shift workers I normally travel to work with, but my instinct tells me that these are the "doers" of our society, the nurses, cleaners, police and ambulance staff, firemen, the factory workers, etc etc. In other words the people who have a role in life and know what they are doing.
The people travelling in the rush hour are the non productive workers, i.e. the office staff, teachers, trainers, marketers, advertising executives, managers, Tv producers, etc - i.e. the people who are good at telling other people what to do. They don't actually do anything themselves and can't make a decision to save their lives. As a result junctions confuse them. Roundabouts are a total mystery. Should they stay or should they go?
As well as an inability to make decisions they have an appaling lack of spacial awareness, so will fail to pull out into a gap that would easily accomodate the Ark Royal, then inexplicably pull into a microgap the size of a Smart cars glovebox, causing everyone to grind to a halt. Then the whole charade starts again.
Even worse. driving amongst them are the Librarians, the data analysts, and research assistants, the timid folk, who are startled by everything. These are the drivers who wait at traffic lights for several seconds after they have changed green, before they eventually move off. Normal drivers release the handbrake and have the car in gear and the clutch half way up on the amber, smoothly pulling away the instance the green comes on. Not so the Librarian. He, or more commonly she, is always caught out by the appearance of the green signal, because he/she is mesmerised by the pretty lights, and wonders what colour might come next. The expect a pretty blue, or maybe mauve, anyhting but a green. And even when green appears they have to consult their Highway Code to be certain what it means and what to do next. Thanks to them we get two or three cars through each cycle of the lights where normally you could get ten through, plus the three sales reps who follow through on the amber and the taxi driver who comes through on the red phase.
Probably the worse of all though are the CPS lawyers on their way to court. They know exactly what they should do, all the pro's and cons, the right from wrong. It is writeen, therefore it is the law. But, when they get to a KEEP CLEAR marking or a junction they cannot make a simple decision as to whether they should leave it clear or block it. Leaving it clear is the best thing, but if they do that traffic will emerge from the junction and then block the path of those on the main road. Is this in the public interest they ask themselves? So they block it instead - but is that proportional and justified. It might go against the rights of those on the minor road. It might even offend those of a particular religious persuasion. What they really need to do is study the evidence for a while, and gain an insight into what the general populace do. Perhps have some CCTV footage to view before they decide? Ideally they would like to defer the decision for a couplke of weeks. The poor creatures suffer angst overload all the way to work, and their driving becomes increasingly inconsitent as their decision alters at every turn.
Of course, once the rush hour is over thing return to normal, the traffic volume may be slightly less, but it is more likely because the right sort of drivers return to the roads. Sales reps, who drive for a living, and the unemployed, who don't. The unemployed probably drive better than the office workers group because they drive olders cars and are far more likely to have no insurance or licence, and are more likely to be pulled over. They don't want to draw unnecessary attention to themselves so they obey more of the rules and drive with common sense, hence traffic flows better.
The solution to the problem then, is to ban anyone who works in an office from travelling in their own car during rush hour. Buses don't run at convenient hours for shift workers, so we have no choice, and the unemployed who don't drive can afford to go by taxi, I know because I've seen them at ASDA. Rush hour sees hundreds of buses, all carrying one passenger, using the bus lane. It moves swiftly and freely, and should be full of these dithering office workers, who work 9 to 5 and have no excuse to use the car, a machine they are at best incompetent with, and at worse downright dangerous. Put them on the buses, and leave the roads empty at rush hour.
That way, next time I am on a course I can get to work as quick as a shift worker. As it stands, I will be setting off at 6.30 for my 8.30 start.

Mervin has a little Hiccup.

Firstly a Happy New Year to both my readers.

And now a progress report on Mervin the Happy Little Courier Van. Mervin has been running happily on Veg Oil mixed with just a little diesel since I bought him back in October. I have noticed he has been getting a little bit thirstier, but put that down to him needing a good service.

New Years Eve however saw Mervins first ever "failure to commence." If you've not heard this expression before it is one coined by Rolls Royce technicians in their early history. Rolls Rpyce motor cars did not refuse to start, they failed to commence. Likewise they did not ever break down, merely failed to proceed. Regardless, when Mervins key was turned there was that dull click from the solenoid and nothing else. This was odd, becasue so far as I could tell the battery was fully charged and he had shown no prior signs of his intention to go on strike. Attaching jump leads and a Proton failed to remedy the problem, and I concluded a starter failure as the probably cause. A call to my good friend Graeme and he was soon on his way with a length of tow rope. Normally I would have push started a car with these symptoms, but due to the veg oil conversion Mervin needs a lot of battery power to supply the heater, and a good urn over before he fires up, by which time the pusher has run out of puff. Nether the less, within about 5 yards he started on a tow, and ran perfectly all the way home, until he failed to start again when tested on the driveway.

Enquiries witht the local boneyard showed that there were three possible starters that the van could have been fitted with, so it was a case of removing the dead one and taking it in to match up with a replacement - or having it rewound and refurbished if a replacement wasn't an option.

And so complete with New Years Day hangover I prepared to strip the starter off only to find the electrical connections were suspiciously loose. A good clean up, some vaseline and reconnection saw Mervin starting once more. Hurrah, a cost free repair! Well not quite, as whilst i had the bonnet up I noticed lots of fuel swiling about the top of the engine block. Closer examination revealed that the fuel return hoses that run between the injectors had perished, allowing fuel to squirt out at running pressure - no wonder he had become thirsty over the last few tankfuls - he was drinking 3/4 and showering in the rest.

A new hose kit was fitted at the princely sum of £5 (Thanks James at Roads Ahead) and the fuel supply is now restrained where it should be.

With Mervin now apparently running okay I decided it was time to get my trailer tyre replaced, so I set off witht he shredded tyre to get a new one.

One of the many benefits of living in rural East Yorkshire is that the roads are congestion free, which means I had travelled almost 13 miles into the city before I first had to apply brakes or signals. When I did i noticed the green arrow tell tale on the dash looked noticeably dim - something as running down my battery. As I cleared the roundabout and ground to a halt I realised (as I turned the stereo off) that the starter motor had been turning for the last 25 minutes or so. Somehow, in cleanng up the cotacts I had manage to bridge across the two terminals leaving the motor permenantly live. A single wire strand from my wire brush seemed to be the problem, and once removed this cleared the short but left me high and dry, having run out of electricity in the battery.

A phone call to my good friend Graeme secured hsi attendance, and this time 15 secinds with jump leads was enough to get me moving again. Forget the RAC, AA and Green Flag, everyone should have a Graeme. Well, everyone with a banger shoudl have a Graeme. mind you they would need a Martin as well.

The upshot of this is that I have had two breakdowns in two outings, but Mervin is now running much more efficiently, using less fuel and starting better as well. I may get roudn to painting a bit more of his bodywork soon, or maybe give him a proper service. In the meantime he continues to provide cheap daily transport to and from work, and is doing stirling work going to and from the tip, moving various items around and generally being a very useful engine!