Terror and Joy

Petrolhead? Me?

2007-02-25T11:12:00.000-08:00

***POLITICAL OPINION ALERT, IF TOPICAL DEBATE MAKES YOU VOM CLICK AWAY NOW!!!***

DRIVNING home along the M1 back from London today, something occurred to me.

Anyone who has recently trundled along Britain's busiest road during the last few months will surely have noted the irritating 40mph zone close to the capital.

Policed by my all-time favourite, SPECS cameras that measure your average speed between points, the limit stretches for about five miles near Luton.

Closer inspection reveals that the mess is down to a widening of the M1. A WIDENING. They are planning to make the road BIGGER.

Am I the only driver who finds this slightly, well, perverted? The Government and the media are busy banging on about carbon emissions, road use charges, greener fuels and reducing congestion, when X £million pounds are being spent on the busiest road so it can hold more traffic?

Of course, this is in the same year train fares went up again, again by about twice the rate of inflation.

Incidentally I was driving back from Bromley with the other half after visiting her siter and her partner. The very reason we drove was because it is still far cheaper and marginally quicker than the train, and neither of us earn that big a wage.

So is it my fault that I choose to travel in my twin-exhaust 1.8i car that spews out however-may grams of Co2 per mile. Is it fuck.

So stick your hand in your pocket, Mr Blair, where you really need to, stop building more roads and plough some dough in to making the public transport system cheaper and more reliable. If you are short of cash, you could always think about spending less of it on a war thousands of miles away that no-one ever wanted. Just a thought.

Piles of Cash

2007-02-20T05:58:00.000-08:00

Outlays on The Mistake have now reduced my bank balance to a paltry £4.26 until Friday.

The latest mammouth cost was a full service carried out yesterday, something it has not been subjected to for about two years.

£190 is what I was hit with, although there was a noticeable improvement in the gears and steering as I drove home. An overdraft will now keep me alive until payday.

The garage I have stuck with recently is actually very good. Their work is always decent, the prices never stupid and, most importantly of all, they don't treat me like a buffoon by trying to sell me work the car obvisouly doesn't need. Everything is always completed on time as well.

It was a necessarry service as well because I'm off to Northampton tomorrow for training, then down to London at the weekend for drinking.

In other news the cat is still sitting on the hood. In the mornings I can see his little paw prints and tiny traces of hair. I think I am going to have to buy a cover, just to add to that stack of outgoing cash.

A Hideous Crime

2007-02-17T08:55:00.000-08:00

This is my cat, Chester. Bear with me on this.

Yesterday at approximately 6pm I opened the front door of the house to discover all one stone of him sitting on the hood of my new MGF convertible.

I shouted so loud that he fled into our neighbour's garden and didn't return for several hours.

On reflection, I should've taken a picture, then screamed at him, but there you go. On hearing of the mog's horrible, horrible, act my dad suggested I sell him to a disreputable restaurant for a symbollically low sum so he could be made in to chow mein. My girlfriend, on the other hand, thought the whole thing was hilarious.

Now, Chester is only two, and prone to bad behaviour. He no longer climbs the curtains, that much he has learnt, but recently he has taken to killing anything that moves, from rats and mice to bloody great big black birds and blue tits (the rarer the breed, the better, as far as he is concerned).

The point is, he is young, and some actions are forgiveable. But about twenty minutes ago I had just finished cleaning said MGF, with Turtle wax cleaner, followed by a chamoising, when the little shit jumped up on the back of the car again and stood staring at me as if I couldn't see him.

Again I roared, and he is now sulking at the neighbours again. I fear the problem is he likes sitting on the hood when it's warm. It's just too inviting for him. If anyone has any suggestions as to how to prevent this, without me having to put some kind of cover on the car all the time, I'd love to hear them. If not then feel free to email me your address so I can post the furry fuck to you in a shoe box with holes for 22 pence.

A Few Thoughts on the Nature of Terror

2007-02-15T15:01:00.000-08:00

TERROR, or, general alarm, comes in many forms.

I named this blog Terror and Joy because that is how I imagine my ownership of the MGF will pan out, although hopefully a crash involving my car, a plane and a horse, as pictured above, will not happen.

The nature of the joy it will bring should be pretty obvious. Anything that flashy and fast is not going to be a miserable experience.

However, the methods of terror it will deliver are numerous and complicated. Firstly, it has brought me paranoia. What is that rattling? Is that really white gunk I can see on the dipstick? Is it safe to leave it parked here?

Secondly, it will undoubtedly cause financial terror. Just sorting the insurance was horrific enough. My old insurers, let’s call them, say, TESCO, because that’s their name, wanted £120 off me a month to cover the car.

Thankfully Lancaster Insurance agreed to charge me £65. Much better. This all before the shit breaks down and hits my wallet again.

Thirdly terror may come through the inappropriate or unlucky use of 143 break horse power in awkward conditions. This is best explained by Mr Wild Murphy, who frequents a forum dedicated to MGFs I found.

“Driving down the ring road in sheffield, one wet morning. Traffic is average and the stereo is blaring out as usual.” He writes.

”The phone rings, I answer. I now see this was my biggest mistake!

“I'm in the outside lane of two, only doing about 40 - 50. I know the road well so my attention wanders a little. Ahead the lanes merge into one with breaks in the central reservation to access side roads, WHAM - the bus in front is stopped!!!!!!

”Panic sets in and I quickly do a hard right, through the central reservation. Realising what I just did, and praying to god that no one was coming the other way, I drop my phone and my "moment" begins.

”The back end of the car is too wide, so I pull hard left. My inexperience now has me sliding, driver’s window first, down the wrong side of the road.

”After an era I come to a stop, head on steering wheel. I've landed in another of the gaps in the central reservation. I'm sat face on to a cop car, two policemen are staring right at me.

”I put my indicator back on to rejoin the traffic, the cop let's me in, I know I'm about to get done, but no!! They just stared, waved and let me go.........”

Cool-Sounding Names Only

2007-02-15T14:44:00.000-08:00

While we're in the task of nosing around other people's experiences, let's take a look at one or two other blogs.

Since their arrival much has been said about these curious little windows to people's lives. I turned my nose up at them at first. One day this kind of thing could put people like me out of a job, and who gives a monkey's about a website diary all about someone else? However...

Dee is another frequent visitor mg-rover.org. A 30-year-old woman with secondary breast cancer, Dee's blog documents her struggle against the disease and her love of her own MGF convertible. Far more compelling and poignant than, say, some bloke writing about how much he loves his stupid car. Oh.

Check out Dee's Journey through a link on her website; http://www.funkybanana.net/

Also expressing her love of a fast vehicle to the world is 21-year-old Emma Jackman, based in Kent. Apparently it is illegal to own an MGF unless you have a cool-sounding name such as Dee, Emma Jackman or just plain Wild Murphy. Check out Emma's website here; http://www.emgeeeff.com/

The Purchase

2007-02-14T15:06:00.000-08:00

ABOVE is the heap I had to shift in order to buy the MGF, or, ‘The Mistake’, as I have now christened it.

It’s a Y-reg 1L Vauxhall Corsa Club, my first car, the MGF being only my second.

Although the little bugger was easy to drive and cheap to run, I grew to hate it and view it as an unflushable turd. It had only done 20k when I bought it, but the gear linkage inexplicably disintegrated after 35k and had to be replaced, to my uncontrolled fury.

Aside from this it was fine. Just fine. Reliable. Safe. D-U-L-L. Then one day last summer for no reason at all I was assigned to help out on the motoring magazine the paper I work for puts out.

‘Go down to the Ford Garage on Leicester Road’, the deputy editor said, ‘they have something for you to test drive, give me 450 words’.

I arrived at said garage and was given the keys to a brand new Ford Focus ST 2.5l with sports seats, alloys, and some dash dials I would never be able to understand. I spent the afternoon ‘testing’ it on the roads of the East Midlands.

After that my yearning for a better vehicle grew, until last month, when I cracked. I started looking for a VW Golf at first, saw how expensive they are even in their later years, then spotted the fact I could pick up an MGF for the same price.

I tried to justify this, but essentially, there is no defending it. I do not NEED this car, I WANT it. I have labelled it ‘The Mistake’ because I know that at some point it is going to COST me. Either in terms of major maintenance to prevent catastrophic failure, or in terms of a dreadful meeting of minds with a solid object because I have no clue how to drive it having spent my first two years in a glorified roller skate.

I have also given it a regular name. Jessica. This is the sort of name that women who are classy but dangerous have. A name that says ‘I have plenty to give, but you will get your fingers burnt in the long run’.

In other news someone on a very good forum I’ve discovered via The Mistake (http://forums.mg-rover.org/) tells me leaning on the car, as in yesterday’s picture, will scratch it. The price of posing comes in mysterious ways.

Tomorrow's update features an explanation of the meaning of terror courtesy of Mr Wild Murphy. Also another MGF enthusiast called Dee is on a journey plus more tales from the weird world of spectacular sports car owners.

The Beginning

2007-02-13T02:09:00.000-08:00

INSPIRATION is a curious thing.

Two days ago I picked up a new car. An MGF convertible, year 2000, and it is beautiful
inside and out. Decked out in Tahiti blue with twin exhaust, a VERY powerful 1.8 litre injection VVC engine, and alloy wheels.

Today I drove it alone for the first time, along Leicestershire’s quieter back roads. The weather was wet, so I was not foolish, but I did make a point of driving along a straight clear run close to Barrow.

It was here that I decided the time was right to test this very British animal. I had already put my foot down on the road between Loughborough and Ashby on Sunday, but I had female company in the car and the road was busy. It would have been rude to explore the engine’s full potential in these circumstances.

It was only when I saw that clear tarmac ahead of me that I slipped into third, offered a subconscious prayer and stamped on the accelerator.

I have never had the fortune to tame and saddle a young male tiger before mounting it and clicking my heels, but what happened as I squeezed the pedal is probably about as close as the mechanical world is going to get.

‘I am ready’ I told myself aloud, before easing up, touching the breaks and shunting into fourth and finally fifth, cutting the acceleration. I had experienced inspiration via the true meaning of terror and joy.

This car must be respected, that was clear. We had touched an understanding for the first time and I was pleased.