Ice Cold in Essex

This weekend I have spent an undue amount of time with the car. Saturday was a trip to Stansted Airport, taking the Polish gang down to catch their flight to ….. you’re way ahead of me again – Poland. Krakow, in fact – where I’m heading off to next week to join them. But, true to form, the convoluted travel plans didn’t go entirely to plan ….

The flight, with good old charge-you-for-every-conceivable-extra Ryanair, was at 6 a.m. so we’d leave Grantham at 1:30 a.m. to allow for any roadworks, accidents, diversions and still have time to turnaround at Peterborough in order to return home to check that the iron had been unplugged. It had. But you can’t be too careful. I also suggested that they leave time at the airport to visit the toilets, and thus avoid Ryanair charging them to use the onboard facilities.

Slightly complicating the issue was that Dave and Val were travelling from Edinburgh to the Norfolk Broads, stopping overnight with me to break the journey – good plan. We’d have an Indian (meal, not a guest from Mumbai), drink and a chat, then I’d go chauffeuring while they went to bed. In theory, I’d be back in time to put the kettle on for a rise-and-shine cuppa – how perfect a host am I?

Around 10, I had a phone call asking about a computer problem. Why the hell are you doing that when you should be packing, rather sprang to my mind. Well, it turned out that there had been something of a misunderstanding with the times; yes, the old a.m. / p.m. confusion. That’s why I always work in 24 hour clock mode. Oh goody. So you don’t need me till lunchtime, then? Great; I cracked open a bottle of 2001 Castillo de la Cruz Valdepenas that I had been saving for a special occasion ever since Dave had brought it in a few hours previously.

So, after a night of socialising, Dave and Val duly set off for their week at the Norfolk Broads on a bling-bling boat. Inspired by the Somali pirate operations, the idea is to sail it down to Felixstowe Docks and hijack a container ship loaded with imported Samsung plasma televisions and sell them on Ebay. Yes, I’ll keep you posted …

“For the last time, Val, I am not going back to see if they've got
a container full of Clairol hair straighteners. Get over it."

Once they’d gone I had a quick clean up, picked up the Poles and set off for Stansted. It was very hot and humid, and as regular readers will know, my aircon has packed up and I have no stereo either. It’s a wonderful car. On the way back, I was on my own as all the nice pretty girls at Stansted didn’t seem to require a lift – at least, not in a car without aircon or a stereo that could play wagglemytitsandbum music. Axe wielding mass murderers who want to listen to Barry Manilow are inevitably attracted to my car. But a miniskirted sociology student? Not a chance.

The dream

The reality - welcome to my world

Enough is enough! So, on Sunday I decided to bite the bullet, dig deep and get these issues sorted out. Halfords first, for a stereo. By stereo, I mean a device that will play CD’s and pick up Radio 2. That all. But they don’t make ‘em like that anymore, because that’s too easy.

Now that’s what I call music!

Eventually, I saw one that I liked – it’s got MP3 capability, 50w sub woofers, 4 megapixel lens, manual choke, PC adapter card, SC-FX025A with 6 preset EQ modes, a docking station (for what? The QE2?) It also makes coffee. So, now you understand that I know nothing about car stereos – I actually picked one based on price, a brand I’ve heard of (Sony) that offered half price fitting and was actually compatible with something – I don’t know what, exactly, I just like the word ‘compatible’ in this day and age of non-standardisation. It was passed to the fitter, or audio automotive technician as they call themselves these days, to fit. "Oh, dear me no. The Toyota Avensis has an integral centrifugal nosepicker Mk4 console, and to fit the stereo you have to remove the dashboard, console and gearbox, you see. And then you need – bits."
"What sort of bits?"
"Expensive bits."
"Naturally. Have you got them in stock?"
"Don’t be so stupid."
"Well, can you get them?"
"Er ... um ... we’ll have a look in our stockroom and cupboard under the stairs, and if there’s no luck we’ll pootle about on Ebay. Then call you back in a month or so."
"I’ll get back to you."

“No mate, nothing wrong with that, bit of polish and she’ll be as good as new.”

I decided at that point not to mention air conditioning, as they’d probably fix that by cutting off the roof. So I went instead to Kwikfit.
"Can you sort out my aircon?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"It doesn't."
"Okay, yes, forty five quid, come back in an hour."

How cool is that, eh (did you see what I did there?) I walked home – yeah, remember doing that? One foot in front of the other, repeat procedure until you reach a pub, turn left and enter. Not that you can do that anymore. The pubs in Grantham aren’t pubs anymore, they're basically a crèche serving alcopops and Croatian Kerosene to 15 year olds who dance to wigglemytitsandbum or dikka-dooka-dikka-dooka ‘music’. All of which sounds like a collection of car horns and burglar alarms overlaid on a backing track of a plane crashing into a mountain. The Rose & Crown and The Cross Keys are now called things like Offmaface or Smashyerskull, and have happy hours that last 6 hours, where you can have a Drambuie & Domestos Marguerita followed by a pint of Castrol GTX for a quid. That’s why you see kids nagging their parents in Asda to buy some Cillit Bang. They think that it’s a cocktail.

With everyone drinking Vodka & Windolene, Gerald decided to play some
Vomit & The Gonads to get everyone really raving.

But I digress. Time for a quick cuppa and then walk back – I could have stayed in town, but the entertainment in Grantham on a Sunday is limited to watching the 234 sets of unsynchronised traffic lights change colour (slowly).
Back at Kwikfit, my car was ready, and I shelled out the agreed £45. I got in, turned up the aircon to full, and within minutes the interior was full of lovely cold, dry air – it was so good I had to put my coat and gloves on to warm up. On the way home, I pulled into the Hand Carwash place and treated the car to a good wash and polish – those guys are excellent, always do a fantastic job and they’re very personable too. A showroom finish for a fiver - it even includes shiny tyre paint as a finishing touch!

Well, my aircon problem seems to be solved. As for the stereo? Well, I’ve just sent a text to Captain Dave on the ‘Broads, and ordered a Panasonic BH89/6b with extra mufflers and cruise control, from whichever Korean container ship he happens to run across. Or, knowing Dave, run into. Bon Voyage!