Autotrader

 I don't have many regrets - maybe because I don't have a very good memory – but one thing that sticks with me is a car I didn't buy. In about 2018 When my Caterham was worth around £20k there was a Ginetta G40R for sale at £36k. I don't know where I could have magicked up £16k, and I doubt I'd have had the nerve, but if I did then I'd already own my dream car. It had 4 point harnesses AND inertia reel seatbelts to keep the MOT man happy. It was road legal and already had a number plate. It had fire suppression and a little aircon pack so you could have a working demister, it had a little luggage space and it also had the features that I really really want in a sports car: A roof, and doors with rubber seals.

At the weekend I had breakfast with an old chap who told me a story about when he was courting. His fiancée broke off the engagement and despite his writing to her a couple of times he had no contact at all with her for two months. What he didn't know is that his intended had a network of spies who were keeping close tabs on him. A car came up for sale and the only way he could afford it was if he sold the engagement ring. As soon as he arranged to go to town to sell the ring his fiancée realised that she needed to make a decision quickly. She conveniently reappeared and they reconciled.

What stuck with me about the story is that despite 66 years of marriage and a little while as a widower he remembers a lot about the car he didn't buy. It was a VX4/90. It's a car I'd never heard of, but it's the high performance Vauxhall Victor with a big engine (1.5l), 4 speed all syncro gearbox and two tone paint.

I now understand why the "Vauxhall Elise" was called a VX220 but I fear that I'll be on my death bed and my clearest memory will the Ginetta I didn't buy

Richard "But then again too few to mention" B

Separated by a Common Language

 I've recently picked up a wound on my leg. While it was healing I had to cut back significantly on my drinking because alcohol affects how blood clots. It reminded me of a conversation I had with a very Plymouthian first aider in the back room of a night club. Despite us speaking the same language, we had quite different vocabularies. I don't remember the beginning of the story very well. It was almost 30 years ago, it was well after my bedtime, and I'd drunk a heroic amount.

There was some horseplay with a beer bottle that eventually got broken. I got cut on the hand and bled profusely. Before throwing me out the bouncer took me to a back room where my wound was dressed and details of the accident were written down. Who knew that the nightclub has a duty of care towards all the drunken idiots who paid to come in? I said to the first aider "I don't know why it's bleeding so much, it's not very big". "That's because you've been drinking" "Oh Yes you're right, alcohol is an anticoagulant isn't it?" "I wouldn't know about that love, but it thins the blood."

Richard "sesquipidalian" B

Staff

 I've hurt my leg, and since then, even though I'm not a fit bloke, it's become depressingly clear how much of my recreation is based on exercise. Most weekday evenings I go out for a stroll to relax, get some air, and a little exercise. I go to indoor climbing twice most weeks. That is all on hold while I recover. So what can I do to pass the time? I like mixing and drinking cocktails but alcohol would stop the wound from healing so effectively. I like to cook, but I'm severely constrained in how much I can eat while I'm getting zero exercise. This weekend I set myself a crafting project in the workshop and I loved it. I made a walking stick from a bit of hazel that I cut from my hedge. At one point I had to sharpen a lathe tool so that I could true up the thumbwheel on a rubbishy Chinese spokeshave so I could thin down the stick. My new walking stick has got a knobbly handle, a gentle taper and a steel ferrule, all made at home.

Richard "Mum, I'm bored" B