Tales for a rainy day...
Dave’s theme this month is water (and other liquids). Just don’t let him anywhere near a building site
EVEN MY best friends wouldn’t pretend I’m a great builder. In fact my mates generally burst out laughing if my name and the word “construction” are uttered in the same sentence – and until this week they didn’t have to look far for the evidence.
One summer’s day nearly 20 years ago I decided it would be a great idea to build a brick barbeque in my back garden. I duly booked a day’s holiday from work and that morning set about the project. I had already made a concrete base, so it didn’t take me long to build up four courses of brickwork – until a big, black cloud came over and it started pouring with rain. I grabbed a tarpaulin to cover my handiwork, cursed and looked at my watch: it was midday. So I went for a pint at the local pub.
That pint turned to two, then three. Outside it was still hammering down. A fourth pint followed. Luckily a break in the weather then intervened. Suddenly the sun was beating down and the wet ground
was steaming. My drinking buddies, Tony and Brian, tried to persuade me to stay for another, but I was eager to return to my own little building site.
With the carefree air of a man influenced by half a gallon of ale, I was soon bricklaying again. I eschewed the assistance of plumb lines and spirit levels and decided to continue by eye. After all, it was only 12 courses of bricks! In no time at all, it was finished. I staggered back to admire my handiwork. Like so much in life, it looked good through beer goggles.
The next day dawned with the realisation that my barbeque wasn’t quite as impressive as it had looked the previous evening. I had in fact created the Leaning Tower of Northamptonshire, several degrees out of true in virtually every dimension, but with a little manipulation of the metal supports I was able to fit the BBQ kit. My creation certainly provoked plenty of hilarity over the years when I hosted garden gatherings, but now it’s gone.
It took me all of five minutes with a sledgehammer to reduce it to rubble. It had to go to make way for a shed. A man can’t have too many sheds and this would be my fifth – five metres long by just over two metres wide. I was going to build it myself and casually mentioned as much to my pal Russ, while we were enjoying a bottle of chilled white wine in his back garden. Russ, who is a very good builder, visibly shuddered at the thought of me – a very poor builder – being let loose on such a project. Not only did he agree to help, he decided to build a bespoke shed from scratch. The very pleasant Viognier I had been topping his glass up with was probably an influence there, but so be it.
Instead of Russ helping, it turned out to be me helping Russ, but it was great fun. Sensibly, Russ banned the consumption
of any alcohol during construction, as he was using some pretty serious power tools, including a circular saw. But as the building progressed over the weekend, we certainly raised a few toasts each evening after work had stopped.
The showery weather didn’t help matters, but we pressed on anyway and covered everything with tarpaulins. At the time of writing, there are just the windows and door left to fit – a job for the coming weekend. And because Russ has been in charge, it’s a fine construction.
Russ is a Land Rover man. He and his wife, Andrea, run a Discovery Sport as well as an L322 Range Rover. He is a previous owner of my Ninety. Russ sold it to Diesel Dave, the bloke who in turn sold it to me (how he earned the nickname “Diesel” is a story for another time). But I digress.
Russ is impressed by the work I’ve done on the Ninety under my ownership – especially the 300Tdi engine conversion to replace the old 12J non-turbo. He keeps nagging me to sell it back to him, but that’s not going to happen.
As a break from shed building, I drove over to Norfolk in the Disco. The plan had been to take Billy the Wonderdog for a run along the beach, but as I headed east the heavens opened again and I diverted inland to Breckland, where we went to the woods instead. It’s that magical time of year when the rhododendrons are starting to bloom and the floor of the forest is covered in bright green ferns and wild flowers – always welcome after the drabness of winter.
After a couple of hours in the wood, Billy and I were soaked, so we headed into the nearest town, Downham Market, for a coffee. It was a wasted journey, because every single café, hotel and pub in the town didn’t allow dogs inside. Such a shame, because most places in Norfolk are very dog-friendly.
Instead, I headed over to the Heritage Centre at RAF Marham, where I donated my late father’s WW2 medals, uniform and flying log a few months ago. That’s all in a display cabinet now, along with a list of bombing raids he took part in during his time at Marham in 1940-41. Like so many real heroes, Dad would seldom talk of his wartime experiences, and I’ve learned more about my dad’s wartime experiences from Steve and Mark, the dedicated curators of the Marham Heritage Centre.
Marham’s fleet of Tornado jets recently retired from service and the cockpit of one of them has been donated to the museum, which is building an extension to house it. They need all the help they can get, so if you’re interested in aviation history, do pay it a visit.
Back home in Northamptonshire, the rain continues to hammer down, but it makes for interesting sunrises on my early walks with Billy. It’s also good for the garden. With my legendary leaning BBQ now reduced to rubble, it was time for a new centrepiece, so I’ve created a water feature, complete with trickling water… and the old stainless steel LRM sign that editor Patrick retrieved when our Bedford office closed last year. Situated close to a waterfall and dense greenery, it seems an appropriate resting place, I reckon.
Just as I was finishing this piece, there was a knock at the door: it was the postman with a parcel too big for the letterbox. Inside was my new book, The Land Rover Story. It’s very exciting to get a copy in my hands after all the research and hard work that went into it. In fact it’s just the thing to settle down and enjoy on a very rainy afternoon.