CAPITAL OFFENCE
have a flat battery issue but, for once, this has nothing to do with the Lightweight. My latest acquisition – a boat – is another fading, peeling mattblack mode of transportation, which boasts a new array of mechanical difficulties, starting with a flat battery.
Having experienced the sort of sub-standard batteries churned out by high street retailers of motoring accessories, which shall remain nameless, I decide to try German, Swedish and French (GSF), highly-recommended (as ‘German and Swedish’ – minus the French) over the years by several friends.
I work out a route to the nearest outlet and head out into the afternoon traffic. The best thing about driving an ancient and rather rough-looking vehicle in London in this day and age is that other motorists appear to afford it serious respect. In residential areas oncoming vehicles melt into spaces to allow me to pass with a regal wave. When I pull out into lanes of traffic, other cars slow down, brake, and flash me on. I fleetingly worry there is a hint of pity in this – perhaps they doubt the Lightweight can cross lanes of traffic at any reasonable pace, or suspect it may come to a shuddering halt before them, blocking their route. But the larger, and more arrogant, part of me believes that my historic vehicle commands respect.
After buying the new battery, which I later discover is the wrong size (I know, I know, I should have measured it first), I take a few shots of the Lightweight outside GSF with my new camera. “Is she taking photos of us?” I hear an indignant voice say, and suddenly become aware of a group of chaps who are standing just inside the rear entrance to the shop. One of them has a distinctly unfriendly look upon his face. “Oh, I’m just taking a few photos of my old vehicle,” I say breezily. “Don’t worry, I’m not taking photos of you.”
The man peers at me with a look of deep
Isuspicion and I hastily climb back in behind the wheel, stick the hazards on and reverse out of the forecourt. From there, I begin navigating an endless series of suburban side roads that have been blocked off to prevent people using them as short-cuts. As I once again reverse out of a surprise dead-end, facilitated by newly-installed bollards in the middle of what was formerly a very useful route, I see another car stop yards away and start reversing unnecessarily, apparently to allow me to have a road that easily accommodates two vehicles entirely to myself. As I drive past, I see a middle-aged man behind the wheel with his eyes fixed in terror on my bumper.
The sorry truth dawns. My Lightweight does not actually command respect here in London. Rather, its rugged and angular exterior is filling fellow road users with fear. I feel slightly crestfallen, believing that both the Lightweight and my driving skills are misunderstood.