Spotted

So the other night after work I headed for the coast, leaving the office at 7.30. I was tired and wasn’t in a hurry, but the roads were very quiet and on the open rural section after Northchapel the pace inevitable quickened. Just before Petworth I overtook a couple of cars in what I recall was the approved IAM fashion, one of which was an early Golf cabriolet driven rather gently by what I took to be an old boy. I must have been ½ mile or so ahead before slowing for the 30mph limit through the town.

The road south of Petworth was also quiet, so I made good progress and arrived home around 8.40.

As I walked in Mrs SS7 announces “Sarah says you overtook Chris and her in the Golf doing at least 120mph driving like a lunatic.!!” and then proceeded to accuse me of planning to deprive the children on their father in a fiery death crash, and generally raged on in a similar vein for most of the rest of the evening.

Now I happen to know our friend Sarah (whose partner Chris drives a Mk1 Golf Cabriolet) has never reprogrammed her phone with my new mobile number after I swopped my old one with Mrs SS7.

So she was probably trying to call me, ended up speaking to Mrs SS7 and couldn’t resist a little embellishment of the truth……

Sheeesh

Log Store

This is the result of several weekend's labour, £100- of wood, and the skin from most of my knuckles: a store for a load of wood for our stove that will allow green wood to season over the summer.

I am oddly proud of my efforts, but now convinced that carpentary is a not a career option I should consider seriously.

SS7

Jammy

So there I was, minding my own business amongst the hurly burly of lane 4 on the M25 one Thursday lunchtime, when the 80-odd mph ‘fast lane’s’ progress was interrupted by the sight of a jam sandwich joining the carriageway.

Within a few seconds, the whole of the motorway was travelling precisely at an indicated 70mph, keeping station with the police car, which had chosen this speed for it’s journey in lane 2. One at a time, the occupants of lane 4 slowly drifted left into the other lanes, intimidated by the unusual sight of an officer of the law driving at exactly 70.

Now, in my experience, well trained police officers in traffic cars rarely behave like this, exactly to prevent the situation I was in: four lanes of motorway traffic with no speed variation at all, It becomes difficult to move across the crowded lanes to an exit, and makes a nasty incident more, not less likely. My suspicions were also confirmed by the fact that this particular police car wasn’t the type of high-powered saloon favored by the Motorway patrols, but the sort of small estate car (a Focus) more typically used by local bobbies.

So once all the law abiding (and paranoid) occupants cleared lane 4 in front me, I gently increased speed to exactly an indicated 78mph, an the basis that this represented a true 73mph or so, and wouldn’t trouble the Buzzies.

Imagine my surprise therefore, when the aforesaid sandwich immediately left lane 2, and joined lane 4 about 100m meters behind me. Now, I’ll admit this was unexpected: the officers appear to have been affronted by my refusal to keep station with them at ‘70mph’ (more likely to be a true 65mph or so) and were going to make my life a little uncomfortable. That seemed fair enough, I’ve driven at more sporting speeds without sanction often enough….

So we progressed for several minutes in this fashion; I could see signs of activity in the car behind, and I suspect my registration, tax and insurance were being checked out. Meanwhile I stuck to a precise 78mph, changing to a lane on my left when it was possible, but only after indicating in a scrupulously correct fashion. Yet at the same time I was rehearsing my lines should I be stopped ( “Does something appear to be the matter with my driving officer?” “And was the speedometer in your car calibrated recently officer?”) I also continued to gamble that these regular bobbies were not going to risk a ‘stop’ on a busy section of the M25, and that they were endeavoring only to persuade me to “Stop the bloke in the Porch [sic] taking the p*ss” (See? I’ve talked to policemen before!).

Sure enough, as we approached the exit for the A3, the police car suddenly slowed and moved back into Lane 2, allowing me to take the slip in approved Roadcraft fashion. I watched carefully as I joined the A3 south, but once it was clear I was no longer being followed, I rejoined the train of cars making progress in lane 3, wondering what had just been proved.

Mars and Venus

Mrs SS7 got a bit of a shock the other day when it cost her £70 to fill the family shed (our BMW 520i Tourer) with unleaded, at £1.09 for every litre. Now she normally reckons on doing this 3 or 4 times per month, so suddenly it has been decided that a more economical replacement is needed.

To be fair the BMW now spending most if its time on local runs, however an arbitrary £10k budget has been assigned and the hunt is on.

Unfortunately, based on the conversations we’ve had so far I think we’re some way from agreement on the BMW’s replacement.

Or maybe not…..

Venus “Our priority is a safe 5*NCap car with lots room for the boys”
Mars “Our priority is a safe car that’s great to drive”

Venus “It needs to be really economical on fuel - more than 45mpg”
Mars “Its needs to have good residuals depreciation is the real killer – we should really look at low total cost of ownership”

Venus “Its needs to be front wheel drive”
Mars “It needs rear wheel drive for steering response or 4wd for all weather traction”

Venus “It needs to look smart on the drive”
Mars “Its needs to get knowing nods at the Goodwood breakfast”

Venus “Leather seats would be nice”
Mars “Based on the fact that inside of the BMW resembles a cross between a skip, a dressing table, and Toys R’Us, we need to be able to hose down the interior”

Venus “I like blue”
Mars “Silver would be better for residuals”

Venus “I like those Renault Scenics”
Mars “No French cars”

Venus “I also want a 6 cds player”
Mars “You want parking sensors..”

Venus “I’d like a nice Golf”
Mars “How about W124 Merc TE 300D?”

Venus “The 1.9tdiGolf looks like the most economical”
Mars “The 2.0tdi Golf has 30% more torque and 140bhp”

Venus “Lets go and see the VW dealer in Chichester”
Mars “Let me have 10 mins with Pistonheads classified”

Venus “I can’t be bother to sell it privately, lets see what trade in the dealer will give us”
Mars “Let me have 10 mins with Pistonheads classified”
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Mars, “Blue Golf 1.9 Tdi it is then (and p-ex the BMW)”

Murk Taxi

A quick write up on the 2007 Mercedes E220 CDi Avantgarde (170bhp, £32k); the car you should buy yourself if you were a responsible family man, and didn’t keep buying menopausal sports-cars.

An illuminated engine check warning light event meant that the Cayman had to return to the dealer for ministrations. The recovery service included the supply of a ‘premium’ courtesy car, so I was looking forward to trying a Cayenne Turbo for a couple of days. However, the local agents turned up with a Mercedes E Class…

This one was hearse black with 16” alloys lost in the arches, and only 2,400miles on the digi-clock. The interior was also black hide, the quality of which Mrs SS7 suggested was a bit ‘World of Leather”. Other than that, the dash was competent - but it was difficult to see what was so ‘avant-garde’ about it all. As usual for a Mercedes the front seats went miles back, but even at a comfortable reach for my 6’2”, there wasn’t a whole lot of leg room behind.

Cold starts produced the usual 200k-mile-Transit-death-rattle, but on the move it was quiet. Mrs E-H used it for a 100 mile motorway run with her MU grannies with no real complaints, so I was curious to see how it would deal with the down-land roads up to Guildford.

Not well really. The steering is Honda-light with zero feel, and ignorance about what was going on at the front tyre’s footprint didn’t encourage pushing on. Road noise is well suppressed, and ride is comfortable on the straight and level, but with a combination of a hard driver’s seat and soft ride, it does fall apart a bit in the twisties, often with a lurch as the lateral forces start to act. It did really feel like I was sitting on top of, not in, the car – and my seat was on the lowest setting.

The motor had the usual deseasel mid-range thump, and usually the many-speed auto box kept up well, slurring through the gears in normal use. But even in ‘Sport*’ mode, full throttle was needed to produce a lag-clonk-jerk kick-down, and that wasn’t cool. Surprisingly, braking into a corner or roundabout, then getting back on the gas also produce a thump-jerk as the combination of turbo-lag, mid-range heave and dumb gearbox stopped working in anything close to perfect harmony.

Frankly it really wasn’t fun, and having no compulsion to overtake at all, I found myself following all the traffic like a numpty. Even when alone didn’t really exceed 60mph or so.

I did expect that all this self-control would pay off at the pumps, but the car’s trip consumption showed 42mpg, not a world away from the Cayman’s 32mpg in similar (but 15mph faster) running.

I don’t see the point; buy a black Mondeo.

SS7
Who can still change gear better than ZF

*ha-ha

Montague’s Gaff

One Saturday recently, Mrs SS7 had to take her Mother’s Union old dears (a long story for someone elses’ blog) to a meeting in the borrowed Merc, leaving the two boy’s and I with the Shed* – running much better after a long trip to Manchester and back the weekend before.

We decided it was an opportunity for a long-promised trip to the National Motor Museum at Beaulieu.

It’s around 50 minutes drive from the house, and we arrived at 11.30am after an easy magazine-reading-in-bed start. Our trip began with replica open London bus ride around the park, and after disembarking, we first walked through the Victorian kitchen garden, and then enjoyed a bit of grub at the Brabazon café.

After decent fish and chip lunch, went to into the main galleries. Nick Mason keeps some of his mobile eye-candy at the museum, so a Ferrari F40 and Big Mac were waiting at the doorway to universal small boys’ delight. The rest of the Museum contains lots of interesting stuff in an eclectic collection, some hum-drum, some really exceptional.

Personal highlights were the pre-war Sunbeam GP car, and the Golden Arrow and Bluebird land speed record cars, part of a large LSR display. I hadn’t realised that Thrust2 reached a simply staggering 760mph when it broke the sound barrier, and the LSR, in 2005.

The later Grand Prix kit includes some proper 80’s F1 cars - knee high to a grass hopper, bloody great wide slicks and 900bhp – unlike today’s F3 c/f rubbish. Nice too see also the big banger 240mph Jaguar prototype from my Le Mans heyday. There are bikes upstairs too, plus a big display of motoring ephemera.

I could have spent hours watching the AV monitors at most of the collections, and was very tempted to do so, but the museum only looked small boy proof up to a point, so I had to keep one eye on the Heir and another on the Spare. The 9 y.o Heir got £2’s worth of ride in a karting simulator; a box on computer controlled hydraulic rams that produced G-forces to match what was happening on the screen. His efforts were complimented by the staff, as were 4 y.o. Spare’s run in the electric karts outside.

The Playstation marquee was the next stop, and in hindsight I could have just left the little b*gger’s there for four hours and done the museum properly, but you live and learn. However, the lack of a PS3 was disappointing, so after a run through the Museum’s shop (F50 poster, small blue purse, Paul Frere Boxster/Cayman) we headed home.

Folllwing a sausage & mash dinner we all went to the November the 5th Fireworks at the local Footie club.

After Sunday God-bothering we went for a gentle stroll to a pub we’d heard about. http://www.crab-lobster.co.uk/ It turned out to be the best eatery we’ve discovered since moving down to the coast, so a pint and sarnie turned into good grub all round and a decent Sancerre.

To make room for supper, the Heir and I walked home; 6 miles around the harbour and along the foreshore. The afternoon November weather was stunning, and at times there were just us, huge empty blue skies and the sound of birdsong. By the time we’d arrived home the fire had been lit and a large whiskey poured. A good day.

SS7
*Our elderly BMW 520i touring, which will suffice for family transport until the young SS7’s cease their car interior destroying food and crayon habits.

RIP: Black 968 Sport with Air

A couple of weeks ago I met my Ring-buddy Mikey for one of our regular dinners in a local Chinese restaurant. It’s our chance to put the world to rights, and talk a lot of bollocks about cars. Or it used to be - nowadays we share Dad’s angst: kids education, idiots at work, wives, that sort of stuff. It used to be a bigger group, but geography favours Mikey and I, and we don’t spend as much time in Devon/house-husbanding as the other car-listers.

Afterward a pleasant evening I headed home, and spent a couple of hours watching Billie Piper being all grown up on TV. At around 11.30pm I noticed a text message from Mikey, announcing that he’d managed to crash his lovely Porsche 968 Sport on the way home, and when I spoke to him minutes later he was enjoying yet another RAC flat-bed ride home.

He’d been exiting a local roundabout with a little squirt of power, when without warning the back let go, and he pin-balled the Porsche down the Armco. It’s a notorious local accident spot, and I’ve seen plenty of incidents there. Its partly because the Shell-grip on the roundabout ends, and also I think partly because the road crosses a bridge over the Thames at this spot , which encourages slimy condensation to form on the road.

The damage didn’t sound too bad, so as Mikey was unhurt I retired, expecting to see pictures of a slightly dented 968 the next day.

I did see the pictures. The Porsche’s a right old mess. A friendly local Porsche body-shop quoted more than £20k for repairs, roughly double the market value. Mikey took the trouble to have it taken to the guys at EMS for a more realistic quote, but even at Brummy labour rates and using second hand parts it’s a no go.

So sadly another fine 968 will be laid to rest. The numbers sold in the UK were small enough, and I’ve heard of a number of write-off over the last couple of years, so the numbers are dwindling. The Porsche 968 is a fine sports coupe, and has aged particularly well. Even in its middle-age can it hold its head up high as a drivers weapon of choice..

Mikey’s had too many trips back home on an AA transported recently (“Guilty as charged m’lud”) so understandably wants a new car with ESC, ABS, ASC etc. The hunt starts now!

SS7