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  • Luke Shitetalker

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    On the pimple of the arsehole of mankind


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  1. Mr Frank Zappa And then I realised where I'd seen this before, @Spiny Norman's avatar photo!
  2. Anyone name the car (without delving off to Wikipedia)?
  3. Good on you man, like a) the car and b) the effort you are putting in to this. I don't have an opinion on which wheels suit it best, all that matters is that you enjoy it.
  4. Yeah, that's what tends to kill them off. I did look for another V40 as it was so damn handy. Problem is they are getting a bit thin on the ground now.
  5. Next up were the wheels and tyres. @UltraWomble had some wheels that were the same as the ones on the car, just in much better nick. He kindly held onto them until I was in the area on work and a deal was done. I had the centre caps on the original wheels. The new wheels sat in my garden until I had the cash for some part worns. (Yes, I know) The tyre shop I use is only about 20 minutes walk from me, but I couldn't get all four wheels in the boot. I did what any sensible person would do and put them in a wheelbarrow and strapped them together. Suffice to say the wheels and tyres that came off the car were shagged: The tyres reminded me of these two fellers: And the damage to the rim was odd. The kids wanted a tyre swing for the garden, I was happy to oblige, after all I had the tyres. All I needed was something to pop one of them off the rim. Ah-hah! A bit of pushing with a forklift against a very sturdy brick wall at work had them popped off nicely. Some work with a couple of crowbars and we had a tyre off, ready for swing action. Rear bearing next, they are pressed into the drum on these, after bashing the old one out for hours, I made brake drum pie in the oven... and wheel bearing dessert in the freezer... And the drone was gone! The front was up next. There was a weird oscillation which matched road speed coming from the front NS and I despite a bit of sleuthing and a new set of wheels and tyres, it remained. I couldn't work out what it was. A hub assembly from a scrapper was almost as cheap as a new bearing. So I took the risk. It's Copaslip on the glove, honest. That solved the oscillating, notchy feeling so it was probably the bearings that were stuffed. There was no rumbling noise before, odd. Is it a Bird? Is It a plane? No, it's Gloveman, the most hygenic superhero ever.
  6. Life has got in the way a bit, I've been working pretty much continuously since the accident, so updates haven't occurred. We pick up the *action the morning after the second accident. I woke up, hoping that it was all like the 9th series of Dallas, where it was just a bad dream. https://dallas.fandom.com/wiki/The_Dream_Season Ah bollocks, it was real. I kept getting hassled on the Saturday morning by our metal collecting friends who wanted to haul my Volvo away. The fourth bloke was a bit cheeky, he had driven past in a beavertail had parked in front and attached his winch to the front towing eye, then knocked on my door and started offering cash. My work tools were still in the car, as were the kids seats. He got told to do one. The kids were getting a bit antsy with all this going on and strangers coming to the door. I pulled the rear wing away from the wheel and drove it gently to work. There are three convents and two kitten homes on the way there, I made sure that I sounded my horn to warn them of my approach. Once at work, the de-CaptainBooming process began. Six years is a long time for me to own a car, there were stones from seaside trips, little *improvements I had made and lots of things I had lost over the years that ended up being found. Monday morning, the grim reaper paid a call. 10 minutes later, i had a small wodge of pieces of paper with her Maje's face on: Farewell old friend (hums 'The Last Post' under his breath) and salutes the departing Dutch-built Swede with a Japanese engine. Not a lot happened for a while, I settled down into Bus Wanker status, but it was difficult to get the kids to school and be at work for 9:00. A few close calls with management told me I still ought to have some wheels, I also look after my grandmother, and getting to her house at all hours wasn't fun. To be fair, she's 96 and leaving the house is a big thing for her. This came along, dirt cheap via a friend of a friend of a work colleague's hairdresser's butcher, (or something like that). It had a few running faults, these are things I expect. The first was that the alternator was kaput. The seller very kindly put it on charge before I picked it up at 10:30 on a windy, rainy Sunday night. It was only six miles to get home but even then, the headlights were getting dimmer and the wipers slower. The alternator is *well sited on the 1.5 dci engine, under the slam panel with the engine in the way to get at it from above, the chassis leg on one side, the rad on the other and all manner of shit in the way below. I suspect that there is a better way to do this, but I set about it in a logical manner. It all came apart quite easily, just it was very slow! I took it to work on a Saturday afternoon, the kids helped for a while until they got tired. They stacked up a prodigious pile of plastic: That was just the big bits. In the intervening time waiting for an eBay-special alternator to arrive in the post, some chump had smashed my drivers door mirror. Impressive as I had parked that side up against the kerb, so would have been a pedestrian that had twatted it off. Ah well, perhaps he/she didn't like French cars? I didn't let the kids help with that one. Eventually, afer some boss-level farting around, I had a *new alternator fitted. The second job was a nearside front lower arm, that was tedious and involved removing the front half of the subframe as it obscured a through-bolt that holds the lower arm at the front, aren't modern cars so fun? The ball joint was TFFMBT, it had more droop in it than Concorde's nose. Finally I lowered the bastard to the ground at around 2AM, too knackered to do anything else and slumped into a chair in a meeting room. The third job was to give the seats a good seeing to, the previous owner was a messy sod, the interior had a lot of sticky coffee patches on all of the plastics and the upholstery. The whole car had more funk in it than Sly and the Family Stone. Behold the grot: I wasn't fussy, so I brushed it hard with a nylon bristled brush and some water with detergent in it. It's still not brilliant, but it's a lot nicer and probably only a Jamiroquai level of funk now. That was enough for one weekend. We still had: A groaning rear wheel bearing 3 x shagged tyres, the spare was in use on the front 2 x weirdly damaged wheels A strange wobble from the front wheel (which didn't go away after the lower arm change, nor swapping the wheels over) A smashed up wheel arch liner (I've never seen one of these get broken) A squeaky noise coming from the rear nearside (in the same corner as the duff bearing) A shagged cigarette lighter Excessive travel on the handbrake to get it to engage, left me feeling a bit twitchy as that had led to the demise of the Volvo
  7. Sorry, wall of text as I got a bit verbose. To shite or not to shite, that is the question... I think there are as many answers to this as there are people, experiences of shite ownership can vary so dramatically. From the 'I paid £50 for this xxxx 10 years ago and all it's ever needed is one alternator belt' to the 'This piece of shit yyyy cost me £4000 to purchase and then in six months cost me that again to fix an ABS unit (or whatever)'. A lot of it is borne from expectations. I reckon (and I have little other than anecdotal evidence from colleagues and friends) that there must be a considerable shock when having to move into the world of shiteing after driving a PCP box/company car/nearly new/driving school car. I mean, cars have come along a fair bit in the last 30 years, but it's mostly in (what I call) the toys department; in-car entertainment, automatic climate control and other such flim flam. Give the guv'nor of the company I work at my first car (a Mark 2 Polo Fox, very povvo spec) instead of his Jag E-PACE, I think we'd have to resuscitate him. I remember him poring over the dash of my Mk1 Clio about nine years ago, looking at all of the blanking plugs, the hole where the tape player once had been, and the general scratchiness of the plastics. He laughed at how basic it was and called it about as little car as you can get for the money. In fairness to him, he got (and still gets) my philosophy. It was either buy that Clio or resign as I couldn't get to work any other way. I have owned shite throughout my driving 'career' and am used to the humble nature of the vehicles that I buy and am just happy that it gets me from A to B with minimal fuss. I'm sure that there are others on here that feel the same. My expectations on any car that I purchase are always rock bottom, like many shiters, I've bought cars with running faults, galloping rot, minging interiors and bald tyres (and sometimes all four criteria at the same time). I base my opinion on a potential purchase by the following: Will it get me home? How much it is going to bend me over in the first six months? How much I can fix with my bare hands with basic tools and diagnosis/help* from the internet? How many of the issues can I just live with? As others have said, shiteing is made much easier if: You can fix issues oneself; time, patience and calloused knuckles when applied correctly can save a small fortune. If I had used a garage for all of my cars issues over the last 10 years, I'd be in a much worse situation financially than I am now (i.e. completely fucked instead of mildly fucked). You rely on the car for work or other things, then have a spare car on a driveway/kerbside. I don't follow my own advice here, but I'm working on it! You have an attitude of not caring what others think, and having immediate family who agree with you. My kids have a very open-minded attitude to the stuff I drive, they are just happy that it allows us to go out to the seaside or whatever, it doesn't have to transport us in sublime comfort or style. My neighbours don't give two hoots over what is on the kerbside, they know I work in a factory and don't bring home much bread, but am good with my hands. My family think I'm eccentric but understand my philosophy. I grew up in a household with not much cash to spare, my Dad had cars that varied in shittiness and at some points, no car at all. My father-in-law moved to this country in the 60's and didn't have a car in a garage, he lived in a garage for three years. On the other hand, there have been times when dealing with some utterly grotty jobs, like stripping my crashed Volvo before it was scrapped, or replacing it's brake pipes three months earlier, where I wish I'd just bought a Duster on PCP. Like most feelings of negativity and despair, I recognise them for what they are, ignore them and they fade away once I lower the car to the ground and get to drive it again. When it comes time to sell the car/scrap it, my unscientific rule of thumb for what constitutes good value for shite is thus: Purchase price + parts needed to make roadworthy/less awful place to be + tyres (only if they were knackered when the car was purchased) = total cost (not including tools which have future value, i.e. can be used again or re-sold). deduct £50 for each month of trouble-free motoring, ignore tyre costs if due to punctures or wear after a few months after purchase, fuel, tax and insurance (unless they are eye-wateringly worse than anything else I have owned). Deduct final sale price/scrap value. If total cost - £50 per month - sale price is a postive number, then it hasn't been a great car. If it's < £0.00 then it's truly a beater of distinctionand another of the same type and condition should be sought immediately I also agree with the philosophy that we need people to buy new cars, otherwise in 10-20 years time there will be no shite for us to buy. As long as that machine is being fed, I don't care. I'm not a shite evangelist, I'm not knocking on people's doors handing over a copy of Jalopy magazine insisting that they pray at the altar of shite (which would have a knackered series Land Rover on it). If they want to lease a new car and hand it back after three years, rinse and repeat, that's fine by me. I don't think of myself better than them because I have a different way of living. What they might think of me, I couldn't give a tinker's cuss about frankly.
  8. I used to walk past this house every day, loved looking at the old barges. All gone now, I suspect giffer owner died/moved out 2008: and 2012:
  9. I heard that it was sawdust for gearboxes and a pair of tights for noisy diffs? It's all very odd when you think about the stuff people come up with. I'm not sure what denier tights you need for a gearbox, is it sheer or opaque ones, if so what size? Does the sawdust need to be hardwood or softwood? A chap I work with managed to rid himself of a troublesome Kia Sedona which had an engine that would partially seize. It manifested itself by being really slow to start, new starter, battery and earths didn't resolve it. Once it was running, it was fine. He took it to PX against an Aldi of some description and when he turned up for the salesman to appraise it, he left it idling. The day came to pick up his new car, he drove the Sedona to a neighbouring street with a space closest to the dealership. With the paperwork done, he drove off in his new acquisition. Cue a phonecall from the dealership later that day, 'Errrm, how do you start the Kia?' 'I never had any trouble' was his response. He drove past a week later, the Kia was still there, unmoved!
  10. I've seen this one in Crayford for years, the sign is quite new, but the wording to me seems a bit old fashioned: which is a bummer for these guys: also, with all of the parked cars on Orchard Hill, a bit of a contradiction?
  11. Boing! Love that, but far too rich for my blood.
  12. Point taken! I did a few times to visit Watford Electronics/Savastore for computer parts. On one occasion I made the mistake of driving round Luton town centre on a Saturday afternoon after Luton Town had played at home. Some eejit pushed his mate from the pavement to in front of my car while I was driving at road speed, only just stopped in time (remembered how to cadence brake which may or may not have made a difference) shot my nerves to pieces. Never went back!
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