6 December
Spent quite a while on 1 December stood in the queue at the Vehicle Licensing office. Eventually got to the front and presented my documents and the lady said the inspector would be in touch to make an appointment to come out to check the car over. NO! He said he didn't need to. She said she'd check. No he didn't need to, so the paperwork would be sent out in the post. NO AGAIN! I want them now. It's the 1 December, she said. I know, I replied. Oh, ok. Come back this afternoon and we'll see what we can do.
So, just after 14:00 I was there again and she handed over a tax disk and my MOT (which she said she needed, I said she didn't, but given I was pressing for them to put in an extra effort, I'd handed over anyway, rather than argue).
Off to Halfords for some plates, each bearing the web site address as a by-line.
The rear plate went on the spare wheel carrier and the front one went on two pieces of aluminium strip fastened to the bolts that hold the radiator and nose cone on.
Saturday the 2nd December was going to be spent driving round giving those people that I'd promised rides to a go in Kitkat. However, I couldn't get the car started at first - it had run out of petrol in the garage. We must have made it back from Derby on fumes, without realising. However, a can full got it to the garage and I tried to fill it up, but the tank is so close to the filler that the back pressure keeps turning the pump off before the tank is even half full. By pulling the pump nozzle out and squeezing the trigger gently I can get it two thirds full, but that's about all.
First stop was my brother, Paul's house. I took him for a spin and mentioned that when he had a go, he should avoid hitting potholes with the front right wheel as the alternator fan would start singing again.
He did a valiant job,(photo of Paul with Julie, his wife) but on the last trip, hit a hole, bent the fan and I had to try and prise the blades off the alternator casing with a screwdriver. In the past I'd done this when the engine was cold, but this time, it was very hot. So hot I left a ten-pence sized piece of my wrist stuck to the exhaust (my wrist is still seeping puss five days later - sorry - too much information). While I was nursing my wrist, my new trousers melted against the exhaust as well, so I was dead chuffed with life.
On the way home from the joy-riding there was a funny noise from the front nearside wheel which Sam correctly diagnosed as the caliper falling off. I'd lost a bolt somewhere. I phoned Pat and she came out with some spanners and bolts and we did a temporary repair. Then we set off for home. To show off, I roared past Pat going up a hill, and as I drew level with her the car exploded in a cloud of steam as the pipe that connects the expansion tank to the top of the pump ruptured and dumped three pints of hot water on my feet and all over the engine.
Two more bolts were pressed into service and pressed into the ends of the pipe and that got us home. I did a proper job on the caliper and replaced the hose with some thicker stuff. While I was at it I removed the alternator and cut the fan blades down even more with the angle grinder. That seems to have done the job.
Sunday Sam and I went and gave some more jolly rides to friends and ended up in Cheadle at Sue and Ed Needham's. Their Cat is almost finished and very nice it looks too with its beige trim. Both Ed and Sue had a drive in Kitkat and gave it their seal of approval. Wiping the car down when I got home, the fog lamp disintegrated. Bought a new one (with an adjustable bracket!) and fitted that.
Monday I took the car to work and got a few more admiring comments. Then I offered a mate a lift home. On the way, I was recounting the stories of the breakdowns and he asked if we'd had the breakdown for Monday yet. No, I said. And the car spluttered to a halt. This was on the slip road off the main dual carriageway out of Sheffield, at rush hour. We pushed it to the side of the road and sat, hunched over, waiting for Pat to rescue us again, this time with a can of fuel.
I must fix the fuel gauge. It was showing a quarter full when we ran out. Later I find that the pipe that takes the fuel out of the tank goes in at the top and once inside the tank bends down and stops about two centimetres short of the bottom. This has the advantage that it doesn't suck up the rubbish that might be there, but it also has the disadvantage that there is always four litres of fuel down there that won't make it to the engine. I've now adapted the sender to show empty long before it is and hopefully I shan't be caught out again.
I'm getting a bit paranoid now. The car is very noisy - the exhaust and carb noise is a feature. However, As I'm now sitting so close to the engine, gearbox and diff I can hear all those working away. I can hear squeaks and rumbles and rattles, and it un-nerves me. Maybe after I get used to them, I'll calm down.
14 December
I can't believe it's almost two weeks since I updated the site! And in that time, what have I done? Sweet Felicity Awkwright, that's what.
Well, Kitkat went to work another couple of times last week. One day I took Adrian (who lent me the timing gun) out for a blast along a quiet country road only to find it ended abruptly in a set of potholes you could lose the car in. I hit one hole particularly hard, bending the alternator fan blades yet again, but more spectacularly drowning poor Adrian.
Another day I had given Dan from work a high speed spin and, having parked up, proudly took the bonnet off to reveal the snazzy engine. While I was pointing out the various bits I melted my trousers on the exhausts again. That's two pairs eaten by Kitkat in a week. This could prove expensive!
On Saturday I took Pat for a leisurely open top drive to Chatsworth House. Glorious! Driving home in the dark with the stars above my head and a big moon smiling down - it was magical. I'd parked up while Pat went into a shop and while I was waiting a family walked past. The little four year old lad saw Kitkat and went "Cor Dad. Look at that car!". "Wooooow!" went his Dad. I was so proud.
I mentioned last week that I was a bit worried about all the noises - especially when in fifth gear. So at the end of the week I hoisted the car onto axle stands and took the gearbox bung out and managed to squirt a load more oil in before it started to pour out all over my shirt (sorry Pat - Can't modern washing powders deal with gear oil?) That made a big difference and the gear box seems much quieter now. I also oiled the rose joint in the middle of the steering column and that's now gone silent (it squeaked).
As for the other noises, I guess it's just that I'm just so close now to bits of car that normally are the other side of soundproofing. I've decided to ignore them and sing louder.
Weather permitting we could be out and about again this weekend - possibly to Tiger for a pedal assembly cover.
No new photos this time - too busy driving. One job that is still to do is to take some snaps of Kitkat from the front, sides and back to put on the PC in order to decide where to put the stickers. Other people tend to put the Tiger badge and name on the sides of the bonnet, but I'm not sure. So I'll fiddle about on the computer like I did for the dashboard and see what looks best. I'm also going to get some special Kitkat stickers done and I need to find the neatest place for them.
Finally I took the build diary and made it into a book. Fifty A4 pages including almost all the colour photos. I intend taking it to shows and leaving it around for people to browse, but it also makes a nice keep sake of the whole process.
27 December
Forgot to mention that when we went to Chatsworth, on the way home through the estate while we were gazing at the stars feeling all romantic, a daft sheep wandered across the road. I swerved and slammed on the brakes (they work) and the dozy creature survived, but the thought of us catching it a glancing blow and somersaulting it into Pat's lap had us in hysterics.
On Saturday Pat and I went for a long drive in Kitkat. I'd spoken to Sue at Tiger a couple of weeks ago and said I'd pop round for a pedal assembly cover and to show her the bad GRP gel coat on the bonnet, but because of the rain we hadn't gone. So this weekend we set off with the sidescreens on and went down the A1 - calling in at every petrol station we passed 'just to be sure'!
At Tiger they'd sold the last pedal cover to the chap who'd got there half an hour before us, but I bought a set of four point harnesses and some black and gold Tiger shoulder pads. Sue checked out the bonnet and agreed that it was a poor example of the GRP moulder's art and said she'd get me another one in the new year.
We also spoke to Laura (I think) and she'd mentioned that they always recommended builders do a 'bolt check' after the car had been driven for a couple of days "just to make sure nothing has started to work loose". Fine advice - I'd endorse that recommendation - shame it came too late to save the calliper bolt falling out a couple of weeks ago.
From Tiger, we went over to some friends and did a couple of joy rides, ending up at Donington Park in the Raceways shop buying a pair of red Sparco racing boots to send to Father Christmas for me.
By now it was raining so we put the hood on and went home via the M1.
Sue and Ed had posted a note on the newsgroup saying their SVA was on 28 December - mental note made to give them a call to wish them luck.
On the Saturday before Christmas, Sam and I did a Santa run - dropping off and picking up family gifts - with Sam's Santa hat bobble flying behind him. Then we drove up to Matt's, got him out of bed (he reckons he was up, yeah, yeah) and gave him a spin. I tried for a long straight country road, but as soon as we got past the speed restrictions, the fog enveloped us, so we just pootled instead. On the way to Matt's we passed a church where the choir was outside with a brass band playing carols. Sam felt really bad because the crowd stopped paying attention to them and turned, as a man, and watched us roar past.
Christmas morning and Santa arrived with my boots - very smart.
Pat had said that she wanted to drive Kitkat, but only somewhere very quiet, so I mentioned that as the local retail park would be shut on Christmas morning, here was her chance.
I drove up there and Pat got in the driver's seat with the old, melted seat squab and a pillow to push her far enough forward to reach the pedals. I didn't get in, but waved her off on a steady cruise round the car parks. Once she had her courage, she set off for a whizz round some real roads and when she came back she was grinning and waving like a looney.
As I got in a couple of lads came up and one said 'Cor, that's the best Christmas present I've seen so far! How fast does it go? Is it a classic?' and so on. Smugly we bathed in the glory and then Pat set off (far more demurely than I would) and drove us home the long way. Half way home, with the speedo registering seventy (I'll not mention what the official limit was supposed to be) I took a photo of Pat grinning. That smile didn't leave her all day - probably frozen on.
Since then the weather has not been sportscar friendly, but with the speedo already showing almost a thousand miles travelled and the insurance only allowing me three thousand, perhaps it's best we take a rest for a few days.
