When needs must . . .
MY amateurish and haphazard attempts to repaint sections of my Lightweight are now mainly serving to reveal bodywork issues of a more serious nature.
The cavity under the bonnet above the driver’s footwell has long been a magnet for botanical detritus, including twigs and leaves – whose course of entry remains unclear – and a curious mixture of what appears to be soil and rust. Enthusiastically scooping out the muck with a handy teaspoon, as I reach the bottom layer, it starts vanishing somewhere below. I assume its exodus is onto the road but, it transpires, a worrying amount is actually ending up in the driver’s footwell.
There is already a small hole in the footwell floor but tactical deployment of a screwdriver reveals another rustgenerated hole above the pedals, through which the under-bonnet muck has been exiting. I’ve heard of people taking screwdrivers to the underside of old cars to assess rust but I‘ve never had the dubious pleasure of doing it myself, especially not to my own vehicle.
It’s strangely compelling, feeling the screwdriver make a larger and larger hole above the pedals, but then, when I sit back to survey the damage, it is awful.
In a depressed slump, I gaze around. There is rust to the left of me, rust to the right of me, rust below and above my feet, and rust straight ahead of me in the form of the vent panel.
I seem to recall that this is a wellknown trouble-spot for Lightweights and, when I bought mine back in 2005, it had been recently replaced, with a handmade section in a nice shade of mustard yellow, which I’ve always liked. Pretty it may once have been but it was never watertight. Behind the steering wheel, one of the rubber seals is so loose it blows right out in inclement weather and the water ingress when it rains has always been nothing short of impressive. The result has been a breeding ground for rust.
Over the years, when I’d mentioned its increasingly gruesome appearance to mechanics, they had shrugged, assuring me it was fine for the time-being. In truth, I should have addressed it years ago, even with anti-rust formulas, but I’ve never been good at putting the ‘stitch in time’ philosophy into action. “Let’s try Brookwells. It’s a Land Rover specialist,” enthuses my friend Pete. I prevaricate, explaining that the Lightweight vent panel is not a part available to buy (which I believe is true), while thinking quietly to myself that any Land Rover specialist would charge through the roof for this kind of work.
Under his insistence, we pull up on the forecourt. The woman working there is awfully nice, comes straight out to take a look but admits they can’t get the part, which would probably have to be custommade. She recommends talking to a chap on a nearby industrial estate who used to do this sort of thing before moving into more lucrative metalwork ventures, including making pole-dancing equipment. “He might be able to suggest someone,” she offers.
“I don’t do those kind of jobs any more,” says Richard, eyeing the Lightweight with interest, suggesting a metal-worker a few doors down who might be able to oblige. “Would you just take a look and give us your professional opinion?” asks Pete.
Instead of pulling a face of horror (which I’ve seen all too often in the motor industry when professionals draw close to the Lightweight), he peers inside with interest. He runs a strong hand over various sections, his brain engaging with them.
“I’m busy at the moment. When would you need it done by?” Richard asks. I say I’m flexible, I can wait and could leave the Lightweight with him for a few weeks. He agrees, saying he could fit it in around other work. As he touches another piece of rust, I ask if he could also replace that. He could. I then lead him round to the driver footwell. Could he also patch this? Yes, he could. “I owned Land Rovers for years,” he says with a wry smile. “Cost me thousands!”
Good old mid-devon. My home-county is coming through for me and the Lightweight. But Richard can’t take on the Lightweight just yet and there are other things to be done.
In fact, the needs of the Lightweight are currently so vast and complex, it’s hard to know what to do first. I technically took over Tim the Overworked Mechanic’s fruitless search for a replacement nearside petrol tank some time back but have only just managed to finally track one down, from the nicely-named online outlet Famous Four.
I phone Tim, arrange to get the new tank delivered straight to his garage and also book in for an MOT. “Isn’t it taxexempt now?” he asks. I agree that although it technically is, I’ve been a little lax over the paperwork. “Well, it should also be Mot-exempt, but you must check that one with the DVLA,” he says.
A call to my favourite call-centre of all time – the DVLA”S phone staff are always so helpful and also pleasant – confirms it. One quick document run to the Post Office is all that’s needed for the Lightweight to not only officially be gloriously tax-exempt, but also (and perhaps more gloriously) Mot-exempt.
While this is definitely a boon, curbing both the annual pre-mot panic and its subsequent associated costs, those yearly checks are useful for ensuring general roadworthiness. So, instead of the MOT, I ask Tim to lavish the Lightweight with a full, no-expense-spared service.
“In a depressed slump, I gaze around. There is rust to the left of me, rust to the right of me, rust below and above my feet. It is awful”