Hullo. It's me again
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, eh? Well, not this time, this time it bleeding change un tas entier. In fact, I've managed to rearrange my priorities in life to the point I've gone from 430 horsepower to 34. Which is a pretty neat palindrome if nothing else, though history does not record what Jean-Baptiste Karr would make of me shooting his most famous epigram out of the water. Although... have things really changed all that much?
Well, some of you might remember I was once the semi-proud owner of one of Mazda's finest Wankel powered things. To wit, a third generation RX-7 of considerable modification and prolific ill temper. It looked like this
Back in the wild by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
I spent most of last year taking it to bits and putting it back together again better cleaner faster stronger. It was good. And a lot shinier and less corroded than ever before
bay finis by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
It was pressed back into daily driver duties and all was well. And so it came to the morning of the Goodwood Classic CarBreakfast Club. I loaded the kids into the back, the wife into the front and off we went. Except we didn't. Wouldn't start. Just churned over and over. Nada. And something broke in my mind. Got kids out. Went back for wife. Put thread up on FD forum saying "anyone who wants to give me 8k and bring a trailer can take it away." Put kids (and wife) in wife's F*rd. Went to Goodwood. Accepted offer on the RX-7 that evening.
Bloke came down, looked around it, deal was done. He was getting it rebuilt at the local specialist so I dropped the keys round to them. "I'm off on holiday," I said. "And I want it off my drive by the time I get home." And off we jolly well biffed, on holiday, where plenty of wandering around in places like this
Ramshaw crest by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
made the world seem a much nicer place, removed from the travails of the modified car world. Best of all, when we got home there was no trace of the horrible red turd but a patch of oil that had seeped into the driveway. I was free of the evil, vicious fox picture forever The overwhelming feeling was one of pure relief, which may seem odd after owning the same vehicle for eleven years, but it had simply broken my heart one time too many.
Trouble was, I now had a lump of cash burning a hole in my bank account. Might as well spend that, then. As soon as possible. Preferably on something really frivolous and stupid. So, meet Dolly
Front by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
Yep, not just any Beetle but quite possibly the gheyest Beetle in the entire United Kingdom. To match her utterly effete exterior, she's a poverty-spec 1200 as well so genuinely doesn't have enough mumbo to get out of her own way. Which is fine, because the brakes .... don't. So that's a good match then. Some of you might be finding it an odd change from a plastic J rocket with a head-sized turbo to a rusty old German kubelwagen, but it's really not that strange. Y'see, this is what can only really be described as my mum
looking atcha by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
with our second Beetle, Suzy Q, back in the murk of the late 60s sometime. And this...
NPB452M tcd by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
... was our third, a rip-snorting 1300 no less, by the name of Herbie (I can only apologise) back in the unfeasibly brown days of the 1970s. Some of my earliest memories are of Beetles... the searing heat of the black wattled vinyl on a summer day... the chirrupping clatter of the engine... having to walk to the top of the Hardknott Pass because the clutch couldn't cope five-up (at least we got to see the Roman fort close-up)...riding sideways across the back, wedged in behind the rear seats on top of the engine because I was smallest and the seats were taken as my mum did the school run for what seemed like the entire street (not everyone had a car in the 1970s, I know it seems weird to our younger readers)...
...so it's not really a change of direction for me. More like, well, coming home
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, eh? Well, not this time, this time it bleeding change un tas entier. In fact, I've managed to rearrange my priorities in life to the point I've gone from 430 horsepower to 34. Which is a pretty neat palindrome if nothing else, though history does not record what Jean-Baptiste Karr would make of me shooting his most famous epigram out of the water. Although... have things really changed all that much?
Well, some of you might remember I was once the semi-proud owner of one of Mazda's finest Wankel powered things. To wit, a third generation RX-7 of considerable modification and prolific ill temper. It looked like this
Back in the wild by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
I spent most of last year taking it to bits and putting it back together again better cleaner faster stronger. It was good. And a lot shinier and less corroded than ever before
bay finis by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
It was pressed back into daily driver duties and all was well. And so it came to the morning of the Goodwood Classic CarBreakfast Club. I loaded the kids into the back, the wife into the front and off we went. Except we didn't. Wouldn't start. Just churned over and over. Nada. And something broke in my mind. Got kids out. Went back for wife. Put thread up on FD forum saying "anyone who wants to give me 8k and bring a trailer can take it away." Put kids (and wife) in wife's F*rd. Went to Goodwood. Accepted offer on the RX-7 that evening.
Bloke came down, looked around it, deal was done. He was getting it rebuilt at the local specialist so I dropped the keys round to them. "I'm off on holiday," I said. "And I want it off my drive by the time I get home." And off we jolly well biffed, on holiday, where plenty of wandering around in places like this
Ramshaw crest by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
made the world seem a much nicer place, removed from the travails of the modified car world. Best of all, when we got home there was no trace of the horrible red turd but a patch of oil that had seeped into the driveway. I was free of the evil, vicious fox picture forever The overwhelming feeling was one of pure relief, which may seem odd after owning the same vehicle for eleven years, but it had simply broken my heart one time too many.
Trouble was, I now had a lump of cash burning a hole in my bank account. Might as well spend that, then. As soon as possible. Preferably on something really frivolous and stupid. So, meet Dolly
Front by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
Yep, not just any Beetle but quite possibly the gheyest Beetle in the entire United Kingdom. To match her utterly effete exterior, she's a poverty-spec 1200 as well so genuinely doesn't have enough mumbo to get out of her own way. Which is fine, because the brakes .... don't. So that's a good match then. Some of you might be finding it an odd change from a plastic J rocket with a head-sized turbo to a rusty old German kubelwagen, but it's really not that strange. Y'see, this is what can only really be described as my mum
looking atcha by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
with our second Beetle, Suzy Q, back in the murk of the late 60s sometime. And this...
NPB452M tcd by Nick Liassides, on Flickr
... was our third, a rip-snorting 1300 no less, by the name of Herbie (I can only apologise) back in the unfeasibly brown days of the 1970s. Some of my earliest memories are of Beetles... the searing heat of the black wattled vinyl on a summer day... the chirrupping clatter of the engine... having to walk to the top of the Hardknott Pass because the clutch couldn't cope five-up (at least we got to see the Roman fort close-up)...riding sideways across the back, wedged in behind the rear seats on top of the engine because I was smallest and the seats were taken as my mum did the school run for what seemed like the entire street (not everyone had a car in the 1970s, I know it seems weird to our younger readers)...
...so it's not really a change of direction for me. More like, well, coming home