Martin Buckley Backfire
Martin Buckley Ltd would like to apologise for the late arrival of this column. This is due to major renovation works at our company headquarters. That’s right, readers, you nearly got a blank page this month due to my current obsession with The Shed – or Das Bunker as one of my friends likes to call it. The need to tweak and remodel this space tends to come in waves, but even when activity levels are low (and I’m doing what I should be doing – writing) it is a constant refining process.
To what purpose, I’m not quite sure; it is not a showroom or a museum (although the thought had crossed my mind), but merely the place to which I come to get out of the house until it’s too cold and/or dark to continue. Few others are welcomed into the inner sanctum, although I felt awful the other day when, after barking at someone who waltzed through my door uninvited, I discovered that the poor man had only come to give me a Corgi model of a Toronado…
Yes, I store a few cars for people, but I won’t house anything I don’t want to look at – nothing post-’80s, no ‘cocoons’ and there’s a veto on Japanese stuff. When I’m in ‘the zone’ in terms of getting the look right, such vehicles as there are run the risk of getting something dropped on them: when I have a brainwave, nothing comes between me and my claw hammer.
During the past couple of weeks, you might have found me swinging from the roof beams, up and down ladders, and easily putting in the required 10,000 steps a day. I feel as if I’ve been to the gym by the time I get into bed, drifting quickly off to sleep thinking of arrangements of hubcaps on the roof supports, and of how best to suspend a medley of Lancia grilles – Flaminia/ Flavia/2000 sedan – from the rafters.
I sometimes think it’s a bit like that cathedral in Barcelona that will never be finished. The comparisons end there, because you will find some of the shoddiest DIY skills to be seen anywhere in the world in this building, a fragile empire of clout nails, cable-ties and white plastic sheeting that would never make it into one of those coffee-table books about ‘dream garages’.
With a few exceptions, nothing has cost a lot of money: friends find me the car-related album covers on my office wall; the Astroturf I’ve laid down the middle of The Shed was rescued from a skip, as were most of the cabinets and cupboards; and I inherited a lot of the tools from my dad.
I’ve spent a disproportionate amount of time getting my ‘spares room’ (an area sectioned off with green plastic sheets) looking right, using wooden crates and old suitcases; the effect is of British Rail Left Luggage c1961. The latest project is putting in a ramp to make it easier for me – or should I say easier for my father-in-law and mechanic Gus – to work on my cars.
My top-five objets in this shed of dreams are as follows, but not in any particular order of merit:
1 Austin Allegro ‘quartic’ steering wheel. Found at a car boot a couple of years ago for £5, it’s got fake wood in the middle and, in true BL style, it keeps falling off the wall – but I love it.
2 Citroën SM engine-block wine rack. This is the last item left from a cache of SM parts and looks perfect on top of my GT fridge.
3 Fiat showroom sign. I got a good deal on this: it lights up, and perfectly complements my ‘Fiat Genuine Parts’ and ‘Fiat Olio Service’ signs.
4 Giant car pictures. I spent serious money on these, much to the chagrin of Mrs B, but they are so effective visually – and immune to the damp, dusty environment – that I got hooked.
5 Raleigh Chopper. This was a bit wasted, so I’ve rehung it using the cable-tie method, lit by a bulb attached to the back of a Fiat campervan.
Honourable mentions should go to the Lotus Seven nose my friend Jason gave me, the cocktail bar with matching stools, and – talking of stools – my executive toilet, complete with Carry Onstyle tent; very handy, until it needs emptying.
‘I fall asleep thinking of arranging hubcaps on the roof supports, or how best to suspend a medley of grilles from the rafters’