109. TGE/TGA (5/6)

We drive to the top of the lane as instructed by wooden cricket bats makers and reach a strange-looking place: half cattle farm half LandRover farm. 

Ahead of us on the hillside there is a car yard full of old vehicles in various state of disrepair, from the old yellow one rusting in the corner and where the hens have laid their eggs to the shiny tank/truck standing so tall my head barely reaches the top of the tyre. There are trailers also, lots of them.

The farmer/mechanic comes up to greet us. This one being, I think, an other perfect example of Englishness, looking half gentleman farmer, half eccentric old-cars collector (how do they do it?) and of course so phlegmatic. I leave the men to discuss men-things such as the type of gear box and the differences between the different models of the same type of car. Seriously! It sounds like this to me: 

'The 621-XYZ is much shorter ...'

'Yes, ... but more reliable ... especially with a BV2 ...'

'True ... was is a V8 or V6? ...'

'Oh! Petrol! ... Really? Short or long wheel-base?'

I am off to wander around and take a few pictures of the place: a kind of weird open-air museum, a mechanic's kingdom open to all ... The huge tank/truck thing puzzles me.

'Who on earth would want to buy a thing like that?'

'I sell quite a few of these. The people who buy them turn them into buses to tour Africa. They are sturdy, reliable, extremely safe obviously, and you get a good vantage point from up there.'

I don't tell him that we are planning to drive across Africa in our smaller, more modest, acquisition but I am thinking we might come across one and I will know that there are tourists in there.

As he is telling me about the Africa touring tank/truck/bus thingie we get closer to a vehicle I recognise. It looks very similar to the one we used to drive around for fun and in which my husband nearly killed my mother. 

'That's ours.' My husband says to me, pointing at the car and handing me the keys. 

I get inside. Hey! Real seats! A steering wheel that I am able to steer, indicators that indicate, wipers that wipe and even seatbelts! I am impressed by such modern equipment. I look around: two seats in the front row but the space in between is not equipped with a big soft cushion like in our previous one. The kids would fight about whose turn it was to sit there, crossed legged, gear stick gripped with both hands, waiting for their father's instructions.

'Third!'

And the tiny hands would manoeuvre the gear stick into the right position.

'Fourth!' Their father would shout over the din and again the small hands would shift the lever, proudly looking ahead into the distance, wee captain of a mighty vessel.

 I turn to the back and count the seats: eight! Brilliant! That is ten altogether! Perfect! The exact number of English teachers in my school! We can now start planning our 'gel-the-team' trip. I turn the key in and the engine starts roaring. Yeehaw! I want to beep the horn (yes, there is a horn too!) but then I remember the sheep.

'Do you like it?' My husband is worried I might change my mind. After all, after all these moths, all I have seen is one picture.

Then Mr Unflappable says:

'Have you got breakdown insurance?'

We look at him, at each other, and then back at him and laugh. He continues.

'Well, you never know ... It should be ok.' I am worried now. Every time my husband says 'It should be ok' something happens. (Just like the day he lit the BBQ and almost burnt down an entire tree.)

I could change the story and tell you that we broke down and we had to walk for miles in the rain to find a recovery truck etc. The rest of the story is boring: we did have breakdown cover but we did not break down. Everything went smoothly all the way back, around a packed M25 with the usual traffic jams, back in the tunnel (where I cheated to be in the same train as my husband). 

We got home and I was thinking: this project (just like this blog) was born in lockdown 1, and came to fruition (partly but still a major part) just in time for lockdown 2. What now?