MisterH

As a small aside, during the event with my guardians, I got talking to a relation of theirs who was into cars. He told me of a mythical version of the Citroen GS called the GSi (Or GSI, GS I, GS i) which was basically a Citroen GS "hot hatch" for the UK market. I thought he might have been referring to the X2 and X3, but I don't know as he said they were the epitome of rare. Can anyone enlighten me as to what he may have been referring to? 
Anyway
Chapter 2: From Tat to Tatty
During my first week of staying with my guardian, who is himself an enthusiast of classic cars, though mostly not of the sort we are about, tasked me with finding him a classic while I was down here. For some context, he cut his teeth working as a salesman in the BL dealership in Soton from around 1979-83, and was really quite good at it. Although he still thinks that buying and selling Triumph Heralds are the key to financial success in the classic car world, something he hasn't been able to reasonably explain to me yet. 
Anyway, the first car I found was a tasty looking Renault 20TS. I explained that while in France these were two a penny, in the UK, even in LHD form, it would probably drum up interest, especially with FOTU getting dangerously close to almost being fashionable. However, even though it was a 1 owner car, he wasn't convinced. He wanted something pretty, a soft top. Then he wanted a Mehari, then a Renault 4, then a Toyota Celica. I was getting to the bottom of Leboncoin at this point,  when suddenly a Triumph GT6 came up for sale in the same town as us. It was a runner (just) but it was so close it would be rude not to go and see it. So off we went. 

The Triumph was a Canadian import. The paint was flaking, it leaked, and the doors didn't open or shut properly. There were age related issues too. The interior was knackered, there was no clutch pretty much, and there was a bit of rust, though the car was solid. It was a sorry sight, as in the boot there was a picture of it taken way back when, in a time when it was clearly loved. It was a dog, but surprisingly, after a jump off the Audi, it ran!
 
But it was far too much for what we wanted, so the search continued. 
Obsessed as he was with Meharis, I drove him down to Toulon to go and look at the cheapest one he could find. It wasn't actually that bad, but the plastic around the tailgate hinge was cracked and there was blue smoke coming out of the exhaust. He decided to think on that one, but at the price it was, it didn't hang around for long.
Wracking my brains, on a total chance, I typed in Innocenti into the Leboncoin search bar, and found a pretty soft top known as an 1100S. Now this was a car I knew about anyway because I really don't have much else to do with my life   my father had once seen 3 strange Fr registered convertibles on the M27 and he tasked me with finding out what they were, as he had no idea. Eventually we settled that the little Innocenti 950/1100S was the likely culprit.

After seeing this red one for sale, my godfather was immediately smitten. Only he had no idea what it was. Ironically, given that he had told me he didn't want anything unusual, he was considering buying it over the phone. His son suggested it was probably the picnic basket on the back*. However, sense prevailed, and we soon found ourselves on the TGV up to Lyon to go and see it. The guy selling the car was the honest sort, he was a trader, but he could tell within minutes that we weren't messing around (I think he might have been more than a little relieved). 
The car itself was presentable, but tatty. There was a hole in the roof, it had the strangest paint job I had ever seen, but it was straight. The paint could only have been done outside in a dusty environment, as it was orange peeling but only in specific random places. It wasn't uniform at all. But importantly for an (Anglo) Italian car, it had no rust. The indicators didn't work, nor did the handbrake, and the head gasket may, or may not, have been iffy. But the seller was good and we decided to think on it.

It was up for 14k, but it needed at least 3k taken off that to be viable given their values. After thinking on it, my godfather decided to low ball it. 3k off the asking price. Somehow, he got it. AND with an agreement to get it registered, all faults fixed, and ready to go. I do not know how he does it, but he has that touch. I need to learn.
I had made it very clear that it would NEED a respray to have any long term viability, but he was smitten. And to be honest, just looking at it was enough to start Matt Monro singing in my head, so I could see why. On Days Like These Indeed...
*In a move that made me laugh, the seller (who normally imports 500s from Italy) said that every time he advertises a car with a picnic basket on it, the phone falls off the hook. Except in this case, well until my godfather saw it!
I think that wraps up this leg of the trip, more capers to come...
 

As a small aside, during the event with my guardians, I got talking to a relation of theirs who was into cars. He told me of a mythical version of the Citroen GS called the GSi (Or GSI, GS I, GS i) which was basically a Citroen GS "hot hatch" for the UK market. I thought he might have been referring to the X2 and X3, but I don't know as he said they were the epitome of rare. Can anyone enlighten me as to what he may have been referring to? 
Anyway
Chapter 2: From Tat to Tatty
During my first week of staying with my guardian, who is himself an enthusiast of classic cars, though mostly not of the sort we are about, tasked me with finding him a classic while I was down here. For some context, he cut his teeth working as a salesman in the BL dealership in Soton from around 1979-83, and was really quite good at it. Although he still thinks that buying and selling Triumph Heralds are the key to financial success in the classic car world, something he hasn't been able to reasonably explain to me yet. 
Anyway, the first car I found was a tasty looking Renault 20TS. I explained that while in France these were two a penny, in the UK, even in LHD form, it would probably drum up interest, especially with FOTU getting dangerously close to almost being fashionable. However, even though it was a 1 owner car, he wasn't convinced. He wanted something pretty, a soft top. Then he wanted a Mehari, then a Renault 4, then a Toyota Celica. I was getting to the bottom of Leboncoin at this point,  when suddenly a Triumph GT6 came up for sale in the same town as us. It was a runner (just) but it was so close it would be rude not to go and see it. So off we went. 

The Triumph was a Canadian import. The paint was flaking, it leaked, and the doors didn't open or shut properly. There were age related issues too. The interior was knackered, there was no clutch pretty much, and there was a bit of rust, though the car was solid. It was a sorry sight, as in the boot there was a picture of it taken way back when, in a time when it was clearly loved. It was a dog, but surprisingly, after a jump off the Audi, it ran!
 
But it was far too much for what we wanted, so the search continued. 
Obsessed as he was with Meharis, I drove him down to Toulon to go and look at the cheapest one he could find. It wasn't actually that bad, but the plastic around the tailgate hinge was cracked and there was blue smoke coming out of the exhaust. He decided to think on that one, but at the price it was, it didn't hang around for long.
Wracking my brains, on a total chance, I typed in Innocenti into the Leboncoin search bar, and found a pretty soft top known as an 1100S. Now this was a car I knew about anyway because I really don't have much else to do with my life   my father had once seen 3 strange Fr registered convertibles on the M27 and he tasked me with finding out what they were, as he had no idea. Eventually we settled that the little Innocenti 950/1100S was the likely culprit.

After seeing this red one for sale, my godfather was immediately smitten. Only he had no idea what it was. Ironically, given that he had told me he didn't want anything unusual, he was considering buying it over the phone. His son suggested it was probably the picnic basket on the back*. However, sense prevailed, and we soon found ourselves on the TGV up to Lyon to go and see it. The guy selling the car was the honest sort, he was a trader, but he could tell within minutes that we weren't messing around (I think he might have been more than a little relieved). 
The car itself was presentable, but tatty. There was a hole in the roof, it had the strangest paint job I had ever seen, but it was straight. The paint could only have been done outside in a dusty environment, as it was orange peeling but only in specific random places. It wasn't uniform at all. But importantly for an (Anglo) Italian car, it had no rust. The indicators didn't work, nor did the handbrake, and the head gasket may, or may not, have been iffy. But the seller was good and we decided to think on it.

It was up for 14k, but it needed at least 3k taken off that to be viable given their values. After thinking on it, my godfather decided to low ball it. 3k off the asking price. Somehow, he got it. AND with an agreement to get it registered, all faults fixed, and ready to go. I do not know how he does it, but he has that touch. I need to learn.
I had made it very clear that it would NEED a respray to have any long term viability, but he was smitten. And to be honest, just looking at it was enough to start Matt Monro singing in my head, so I could see why. On Days Like These Indeed...
*In a move that made me laugh, the seller (who normally imports 500s from Italy) said that every time he advertises a car with a picnic basket on it, the phone falls off the hook. Except in this case, well until my godfather saw it!
I think that wraps up this leg of the trip, more capers to come...
 

Brilliant and well done! Glasgow to Basingstoke is more than enough for me in one go!

He made an offer they couldn't refuse.

As a small aside, during the event with my guardians, I got talking to a relation of theirs who was into cars. He told me of a mythical version of the Citroen GS called the GSi (Or GSI, GS I, GS i) which was basically a Citroen GS "hot hatch" for the UK market. I thought he might have been referring to the X2 and X3, but I don't know as he said they were the epitome of rare. Can anyone enlighten me as to what he may have been referring to? 
Anyway
Chapter 2: From Tat to Tatty
During my first week of staying with my guardian, who is himself an enthusiast of classic cars, though mostly not of the sort we are about, tasked me with finding him a classic while I was down here. For some context, he cut his teeth working as a salesman in the BL dealership in Soton from around 1979-83, and was really quite good at it. Although he still thinks that buying and selling Triumph Heralds are the key to financial success in the classic car world, something he hasn't been able to reasonably explain to me yet. 
Anyway, the first car I found was a tasty looking Renault 20TS. I explained that while in France these were two a penny, in the UK, even in LHD form, it would probably drum up interest, especially with FOTU getting dangerously close to almost being fashionable. However, even though it was a 1 owner car, he wasn't convinced. He wanted something pretty, a soft top. Then he wanted a Mehari, then a Renault 4, then a Toyota Celica. I was getting to the bottom of Leboncoin at this point,  when suddenly a Triumph GT6 came up for sale in the same town as us. It was a runner (just) but it was so close it would be rude not to go and see it. So off we went. 

The Triumph was a Canadian import. The paint was flaking, it leaked, and the doors didn't open or shut properly. There were age related issues too. The interior was knackered, there was no clutch pretty much, and there was a bit of rust, though the car was solid. It was a sorry sight, as in the boot there was a picture of it taken way back when, in a time when it was clearly loved. It was a dog, but surprisingly, after a jump off the Audi, it ran!
 
But it was far too much for what we wanted, so the search continued. 
Obsessed as he was with Meharis, I drove him down to Toulon to go and look at the cheapest one he could find. It wasn't actually that bad, but the plastic around the tailgate hinge was cracked and there was blue smoke coming out of the exhaust. He decided to think on that one, but at the price it was, it didn't hang around for long.
Wracking my brains, on a total chance, I typed in Innocenti into the Leboncoin search bar, and found a pretty soft top known as an 1100S. Now this was a car I knew about anyway because I really don't have much else to do with my life   my father had once seen 3 strange Fr registered convertibles on the M27 and he tasked me with finding out what they were, as he had no idea. Eventually we settled that the little Innocenti 950/1100S was the likely culprit.

After seeing this red one for sale, my godfather was immediately smitten. Only he had no idea what it was. Ironically, given that he had told me he didn't want anything unusual, he was considering buying it over the phone. His son suggested it was probably the picnic basket on the back*. However, sense prevailed, and we soon found ourselves on the TGV up to Lyon to go and see it. The guy selling the car was the honest sort, he was a trader, but he could tell within minutes that we weren't messing around (I think he might have been more than a little relieved). 
The car itself was presentable, but tatty. There was a hole in the roof, it had the strangest paint job I had ever seen, but it was straight. The paint could only have been done outside in a dusty environment, as it was orange peeling but only in specific random places. It wasn't uniform at all. But importantly for an (Anglo) Italian car, it had no rust. The indicators didn't work, nor did the handbrake, and the head gasket may, or may not, have been iffy. But the seller was good and we decided to think on it.

It was up for 14k, but it needed at least 3k taken off that to be viable given their values. After thinking on it, my godfather decided to low ball it. 3k off the asking price. Somehow, he got it. AND with an agreement to get it registered, all faults fixed, and ready to go. I do not know how he does it, but he has that touch. I need to learn.
I had made it very clear that it would NEED a respray to have any long term viability, but he was smitten. And to be honest, just looking at it was enough to start Matt Monro singing in my head, so I could see why. On Days Like These Indeed...
*In a move that made me laugh, the seller (who normally imports 500s from Italy) said that every time he advertises a car with a picnic basket on it, the phone falls off the hook. Except in this case, well until my godfather saw it!
I think that wraps up this leg of the trip, more capers to come...
 

It has been quite quiet on my page for a while, this might offer some explanation...
Chapter 1: The Run du Soleil 
Due to a family event in the South of France where my guardians live, I felt it would be a good idea to make a trip out of it and get some experience driving on the continent. Given the Volvo's predicament, my only choice of transport was my still relatively new (to me) 1986 Audi 80 Sport, with 150k miles under it's belt and possibly some faults hiding, probably not.  My parents had to get there and back, as they couldn't stay, so they took the Nissan 370Z Nismo bought as a bit of fun (without* the asterisk) last year. Before departure I was fastidious in my checks, far more than normal. The fluids had been recently changed, but they were topped up and the tyres inflated to slightly over their recommended pressures to give better fuel economy on the motorways. Finally, the cars were cleaned, and I spent the best part of a day polishing the Audi with zeal. Yeah...
 


The morning came and to say it was pissing it down was an understatement. In the dark on the M25, there was a lot o
f spray, putting paid to all my armwork the day before. To make matters worse, due to a huge geopolitical shift that shall go unnamed, the M20 was closed to park lorries all down it, so it was almost impossible to actually access the Channel Tunnel. Eventually following his nose, my father carved out a route taking us through the Kentish country lanes and we were able to sneak on to the motorway for the last stretch to get us where we needed to be. Once we had been through customs we were ready for the adventure to really begin. 


Our route was pretty simple: Head around 800 miles south, at 80 mph, going through the automotive intestine that is Lyon. With my father leading in the Nismo, I duly followed, and quickly found the Audi to be far more capable than I had bargained for. My father was dawdling around at 70, which actually began to really hinder my concentration. So much so, that I had to goad him to speed up to the legal limit of 130kph. There was some good reasoning behind his actions though, as for about 600 miles, the motorway was covered in standing water and with crosswinds for large parts. This was going to be a fight. 
Passing lorries with zero visibility. Crosswinds really knocking you for 6. The famously smooth French roads, so often the envy of British drivers, became akin to an ice rink, but with lorries whose spray always blew exactly where you had to go to pass. Keeping the car in a straight line was a battle, mile after mile. I found myself wishing I had got a quattro instead, before reminding myself that 4WD cannot cheat the wind. But the only thing that was faltering in the equation was me. The car was astoundingly good at long distance, high speed blasts. The engine was willing and had plenty of go in it whenever I was at the limit, and it cruised at 80 all day with little fuss. Halfway in however, I had to take a break. My father was, quite annoyingly, totally relaxed in the Nismo, the tuning shop Sportscar GT proving more comfortable than the family saloon, even if you couldn't get as much in it. I had to give a series of flashes denoting whether I needed a break, or the car needed fuel (spoiler alert, the latter was only needed twice), as he would just plod on through. We certainly made an interesting combo though, and the continental drivers were quite perturbed to see a 36 year old saloon overtaking them in the outside lane. Just doing what it was designed to do.


But 3/4 of the way to Lyon, the weather dried up a bit, and the roads opened out, and we could have some fine cruising. Many cassettes were played, from the likes of Duran Duran to a-ha, even a bit of Roxy Music, and of course I had the cassette adapter for my phone. Then we hit Lyon. 
For those who do not know, Lyon is like the small intestine, but of roads. Lots of congestion, lots of illogical layouts. A world of shit if you are a driver. A Huge tunnel with about 5 different entrances and exits, and we had to get the one that would take us to Provence. And we hit it as rush hour. N'ertheless, we waded through, and feeling extremely thankful I drove to Somerset a couple of days before to fit a new cooling fan. Then, after getting past an accident, we were able to get close to our goal. But in spite of how close they may appear on the map, Lyon is still 4 hours from Toulon, our target. France is Very Big. 
As night fell we went on, my concentration buckling under the strain. The French lack of cat's eyes really playing with my mind. But we went on. If I hadn't been exerting myself so hard earlier in the trip, I might have been better off. But then given my age, and this being my first automarathon, I shouldn't have really been surprised. Still, I flipped cassettes, kept the fan at full, and tried to focus on my IAM skills*
Not long before our destination, in the dark at around 21:30, I put the special magic cassette in. This allows me to play music from my phone through the cassette player. And next on my playlist was that anthem by The Sisters of Mercy, The Temple of Love (1994). This song seems to be the music equivalent of caffeine, and keep me awake far longer than other songs do. When I heard the opening I turned the volume up and prepared for the power. Shame the cassette wasn't prepared for it though, as it promptly gave up the ghost a minute in and left me in silence. It simply couldn't handle it. 
But by this time, I was close. So I decided to forgo anything else and try to concentrate. Though not before some questionable in car attempts to salvage the music.
The last few miles went by, and by the time I arrived in the picturesque walled village of Le Castellet, I had been going for 18 hours, and the odometer had climbed by almost 900 miles. 
  
 
And in the back of my mind I could hear echoes of Craig Armstrong's Ruthless Gravity, as featured in the 2003 Top Gear race to the South of France...  
 
 
Tune in next time to find out how through my trying to explain why a Renault 20 was a good idea, my godfather bought an Innocenti 1100S. And my first EV experience *gasp* 
But there can be no more tonight, I have just had to navigate the M25...
 
 
...And drive 3/4 of France

As a small aside, during the event with my guardians, I got talking to a relation of theirs who was into cars. He told me of a mythical version of the Citroen GS called the GSi (Or GSI, GS I, GS i) which was basically a Citroen GS "hot hatch" for the UK market. I thought he might have been referring to the X2 and X3, but I don't know as he said they were the epitome of rare. Can anyone enlighten me as to what he may have been referring to? 
Anyway
Chapter 2: From Tat to Tatty
During my first week of staying with my guardian, who is himself an enthusiast of classic cars, though mostly not of the sort we are about, tasked me with finding him a classic while I was down here. For some context, he cut his teeth working as a salesman in the BL dealership in Soton from around 1979-83, and was really quite good at it. Although he still thinks that buying and selling Triumph Heralds are the key to financial success in the classic car world, something he hasn't been able to reasonably explain to me yet. 
Anyway, the first car I found was a tasty looking Renault 20TS. I explained that while in France these were two a penny, in the UK, even in LHD form, it would probably drum up interest, especially with FOTU getting dangerously close to almost being fashionable. However, even though it was a 1 owner car, he wasn't convinced. He wanted something pretty, a soft top. Then he wanted a Mehari, then a Renault 4, then a Toyota Celica. I was getting to the bottom of Leboncoin at this point,  when suddenly a Triumph GT6 came up for sale in the same town as us. It was a runner (just) but it was so close it would be rude not to go and see it. So off we went. 

The Triumph was a Canadian import. The paint was flaking, it leaked, and the doors didn't open or shut properly. There were age related issues too. The interior was knackered, there was no clutch pretty much, and there was a bit of rust, though the car was solid. It was a sorry sight, as in the boot there was a picture of it taken way back when, in a time when it was clearly loved. It was a dog, but surprisingly, after a jump off the Audi, it ran!
 
But it was far too much for what we wanted, so the search continued. 
Obsessed as he was with Meharis, I drove him down to Toulon to go and look at the cheapest one he could find. It wasn't actually that bad, but the plastic around the tailgate hinge was cracked and there was blue smoke coming out of the exhaust. He decided to think on that one, but at the price it was, it didn't hang around for long.
Wracking my brains, on a total chance, I typed in Innocenti into the Leboncoin search bar, and found a pretty soft top known as an 1100S. Now this was a car I knew about anyway because I really don't have much else to do with my life   my father had once seen 3 strange Fr registered convertibles on the M27 and he tasked me with finding out what they were, as he had no idea. Eventually we settled that the little Innocenti 950/1100S was the likely culprit.

After seeing this red one for sale, my godfather was immediately smitten. Only he had no idea what it was. Ironically, given that he had told me he didn't want anything unusual, he was considering buying it over the phone. His son suggested it was probably the picnic basket on the back*. However, sense prevailed, and we soon found ourselves on the TGV up to Lyon to go and see it. The guy selling the car was the honest sort, he was a trader, but he could tell within minutes that we weren't messing around (I think he might have been more than a little relieved). 
The car itself was presentable, but tatty. There was a hole in the roof, it had the strangest paint job I had ever seen, but it was straight. The paint could only have been done outside in a dusty environment, as it was orange peeling but only in specific random places. It wasn't uniform at all. But importantly for an (Anglo) Italian car, it had no rust. The indicators didn't work, nor did the handbrake, and the head gasket may, or may not, have been iffy. But the seller was good and we decided to think on it.

It was up for 14k, but it needed at least 3k taken off that to be viable given their values. After thinking on it, my godfather decided to low ball it. 3k off the asking price. Somehow, he got it. AND with an agreement to get it registered, all faults fixed, and ready to go. I do not know how he does it, but he has that touch. I need to learn.
I had made it very clear that it would NEED a respray to have any long term viability, but he was smitten. And to be honest, just looking at it was enough to start Matt Monro singing in my head, so I could see why. On Days Like These Indeed...
*In a move that made me laugh, the seller (who normally imports 500s from Italy) said that every time he advertises a car with a picnic basket on it, the phone falls off the hook. Except in this case, well until my godfather saw it!
I think that wraps up this leg of the trip, more capers to come...
 

It has been quite quiet on my page for a while, this might offer some explanation...
Chapter 1: The Run du Soleil 
Due to a family event in the South of France where my guardians live, I felt it would be a good idea to make a trip out of it and get some experience driving on the continent. Given the Volvo's predicament, my only choice of transport was my still relatively new (to me) 1986 Audi 80 Sport, with 150k miles under it's belt and possibly some faults hiding, probably not.  My parents had to get there and back, as they couldn't stay, so they took the Nissan 370Z Nismo bought as a bit of fun (without* the asterisk) last year. Before departure I was fastidious in my checks, far more than normal. The fluids had been recently changed, but they were topped up and the tyres inflated to slightly over their recommended pressures to give better fuel economy on the motorways. Finally, the cars were cleaned, and I spent the best part of a day polishing the Audi with zeal. Yeah...
 


The morning came and to say it was pissing it down was an understatement. In the dark on the M25, there was a lot o
f spray, putting paid to all my armwork the day before. To make matters worse, due to a huge geopolitical shift that shall go unnamed, the M20 was closed to park lorries all down it, so it was almost impossible to actually access the Channel Tunnel. Eventually following his nose, my father carved out a route taking us through the Kentish country lanes and we were able to sneak on to the motorway for the last stretch to get us where we needed to be. Once we had been through customs we were ready for the adventure to really begin. 


Our route was pretty simple: Head around 800 miles south, at 80 mph, going through the automotive intestine that is Lyon. With my father leading in the Nismo, I duly followed, and quickly found the Audi to be far more capable than I had bargained for. My father was dawdling around at 70, which actually began to really hinder my concentration. So much so, that I had to goad him to speed up to the legal limit of 130kph. There was some good reasoning behind his actions though, as for about 600 miles, the motorway was covered in standing water and with crosswinds for large parts. This was going to be a fight. 
Passing lorries with zero visibility. Crosswinds really knocking you for 6. The famously smooth French roads, so often the envy of British drivers, became akin to an ice rink, but with lorries whose spray always blew exactly where you had to go to pass. Keeping the car in a straight line was a battle, mile after mile. I found myself wishing I had got a quattro instead, before reminding myself that 4WD cannot cheat the wind. But the only thing that was faltering in the equation was me. The car was astoundingly good at long distance, high speed blasts. The engine was willing and had plenty of go in it whenever I was at the limit, and it cruised at 80 all day with little fuss. Halfway in however, I had to take a break. My father was, quite annoyingly, totally relaxed in the Nismo, the tuning shop Sportscar GT proving more comfortable than the family saloon, even if you couldn't get as much in it. I had to give a series of flashes denoting whether I needed a break, or the car needed fuel (spoiler alert, the latter was only needed twice), as he would just plod on through. We certainly made an interesting combo though, and the continental drivers were quite perturbed to see a 36 year old saloon overtaking them in the outside lane. Just doing what it was designed to do.


But 3/4 of the way to Lyon, the weather dried up a bit, and the roads opened out, and we could have some fine cruising. Many cassettes were played, from the likes of Duran Duran to a-ha, even a bit of Roxy Music, and of course I had the cassette adapter for my phone. Then we hit Lyon. 
For those who do not know, Lyon is like the small intestine, but of roads. Lots of congestion, lots of illogical layouts. A world of shit if you are a driver. A Huge tunnel with about 5 different entrances and exits, and we had to get the one that would take us to Provence. And we hit it as rush hour. N'ertheless, we waded through, and feeling extremely thankful I drove to Somerset a couple of days before to fit a new cooling fan. Then, after getting past an accident, we were able to get close to our goal. But in spite of how close they may appear on the map, Lyon is still 4 hours from Toulon, our target. France is Very Big. 
As night fell we went on, my concentration buckling under the strain. The French lack of cat's eyes really playing with my mind. But we went on. If I hadn't been exerting myself so hard earlier in the trip, I might have been better off. But then given my age, and this being my first automarathon, I shouldn't have really been surprised. Still, I flipped cassettes, kept the fan at full, and tried to focus on my IAM skills*
Not long before our destination, in the dark at around 21:30, I put the special magic cassette in. This allows me to play music from my phone through the cassette player. And next on my playlist was that anthem by The Sisters of Mercy, The Temple of Love (1994). This song seems to be the music equivalent of caffeine, and keep me awake far longer than other songs do. When I heard the opening I turned the volume up and prepared for the power. Shame the cassette wasn't prepared for it though, as it promptly gave up the ghost a minute in and left me in silence. It simply couldn't handle it. 
But by this time, I was close. So I decided to forgo anything else and try to concentrate. Though not before some questionable in car attempts to salvage the music.
The last few miles went by, and by the time I arrived in the picturesque walled village of Le Castellet, I had been going for 18 hours, and the odometer had climbed by almost 900 miles. 
  
 
And in the back of my mind I could hear echoes of Craig Armstrong's Ruthless Gravity, as featured in the 2003 Top Gear race to the South of France...  
 
 
Tune in next time to find out how through my trying to explain why a Renault 20 was a good idea, my godfather bought an Innocenti 1100S. And my first EV experience *gasp* 
But there can be no more tonight, I have just had to navigate the M25...
 
 
...And drive 3/4 of France

It has been quite quiet on my page for a while, this might offer some explanation...
Chapter 1: The Run du Soleil 
Due to a family event in the South of France where my guardians live, I felt it would be a good idea to make a trip out of it and get some experience driving on the continent. Given the Volvo's predicament, my only choice of transport was my still relatively new (to me) 1986 Audi 80 Sport, with 150k miles under it's belt and possibly some faults hiding, probably not.  My parents had to get there and back, as they couldn't stay, so they took the Nissan 370Z Nismo bought as a bit of fun (without* the asterisk) last year. Before departure I was fastidious in my checks, far more than normal. The fluids had been recently changed, but they were topped up and the tyres inflated to slightly over their recommended pressures to give better fuel economy on the motorways. Finally, the cars were cleaned, and I spent the best part of a day polishing the Audi with zeal. Yeah...
 


The morning came and to say it was pissing it down was an understatement. In the dark on the M25, there was a lot o
f spray, putting paid to all my armwork the day before. To make matters worse, due to a huge geopolitical shift that shall go unnamed, the M20 was closed to park lorries all down it, so it was almost impossible to actually access the Channel Tunnel. Eventually following his nose, my father carved out a route taking us through the Kentish country lanes and we were able to sneak on to the motorway for the last stretch to get us where we needed to be. Once we had been through customs we were ready for the adventure to really begin. 


Our route was pretty simple: Head around 800 miles south, at 80 mph, going through the automotive intestine that is Lyon. With my father leading in the Nismo, I duly followed, and quickly found the Audi to be far more capable than I had bargained for. My father was dawdling around at 70, which actually began to really hinder my concentration. So much so, that I had to goad him to speed up to the legal limit of 130kph. There was some good reasoning behind his actions though, as for about 600 miles, the motorway was covered in standing water and with crosswinds for large parts. This was going to be a fight. 
Passing lorries with zero visibility. Crosswinds really knocking you for 6. The famously smooth French roads, so often the envy of British drivers, became akin to an ice rink, but with lorries whose spray always blew exactly where you had to go to pass. Keeping the car in a straight line was a battle, mile after mile. I found myself wishing I had got a quattro instead, before reminding myself that 4WD cannot cheat the wind. But the only thing that was faltering in the equation was me. The car was astoundingly good at long distance, high speed blasts. The engine was willing and had plenty of go in it whenever I was at the limit, and it cruised at 80 all day with little fuss. Halfway in however, I had to take a break. My father was, quite annoyingly, totally relaxed in the Nismo, the tuning shop Sportscar GT proving more comfortable than the family saloon, even if you couldn't get as much in it. I had to give a series of flashes denoting whether I needed a break, or the car needed fuel (spoiler alert, the latter was only needed twice), as he would just plod on through. We certainly made an interesting combo though, and the continental drivers were quite perturbed to see a 36 year old saloon overtaking them in the outside lane. Just doing what it was designed to do.


But 3/4 of the way to Lyon, the weather dried up a bit, and the roads opened out, and we could have some fine cruising. Many cassettes were played, from the likes of Duran Duran to a-ha, even a bit of Roxy Music, and of course I had the cassette adapter for my phone. Then we hit Lyon. 
For those who do not know, Lyon is like the small intestine, but of roads. Lots of congestion, lots of illogical layouts. A world of shit if you are a driver. A Huge tunnel with about 5 different entrances and exits, and we had to get the one that would take us to Provence. And we hit it as rush hour. N'ertheless, we waded through, and feeling extremely thankful I drove to Somerset a couple of days before to fit a new cooling fan. Then, after getting past an accident, we were able to get close to our goal. But in spite of how close they may appear on the map, Lyon is still 4 hours from Toulon, our target. France is Very Big. 
As night fell we went on, my concentration buckling under the strain. The French lack of cat's eyes really playing with my mind. But we went on. If I hadn't been exerting myself so hard earlier in the trip, I might have been better off. But then given my age, and this being my first automarathon, I shouldn't have really been surprised. Still, I flipped cassettes, kept the fan at full, and tried to focus on my IAM skills*
Not long before our destination, in the dark at around 21:30, I put the special magic cassette in. This allows me to play music from my phone through the cassette player. And next on my playlist was that anthem by The Sisters of Mercy, The Temple of Love (1994). This song seems to be the music equivalent of caffeine, and keep me awake far longer than other songs do. When I heard the opening I turned the volume up and prepared for the power. Shame the cassette wasn't prepared for it though, as it promptly gave up the ghost a minute in and left me in silence. It simply couldn't handle it. 
But by this time, I was close. So I decided to forgo anything else and try to concentrate. Though not before some questionable in car attempts to salvage the music.
The last few miles went by, and by the time I arrived in the picturesque walled village of Le Castellet, I had been going for 18 hours, and the odometer had climbed by almost 900 miles. 
  
 
And in the back of my mind I could hear echoes of Craig Armstrong's Ruthless Gravity, as featured in the 2003 Top Gear race to the South of France...  
 
 
Tune in next time to find out how through my trying to explain why a Renault 20 was a good idea, my godfather bought an Innocenti 1100S. And my first EV experience *gasp* 
But there can be no more tonight, I have just had to navigate the M25...
 
 
...And drive 3/4 of France

It has been quite quiet on my page for a while, this might offer some explanation...
Chapter 1: The Run du Soleil 
Due to a family event in the South of France where my guardians live, I felt it would be a good idea to make a trip out of it and get some experience driving on the continent. Given the Volvo's predicament, my only choice of transport was my still relatively new (to me) 1986 Audi 80 Sport, with 150k miles under it's belt and possibly some faults hiding, probably not.  My parents had to get there and back, as they couldn't stay, so they took the Nissan 370Z Nismo bought as a bit of fun (without* the asterisk) last year. Before departure I was fastidious in my checks, far more than normal. The fluids had been recently changed, but they were topped up and the tyres inflated to slightly over their recommended pressures to give better fuel economy on the motorways. Finally, the cars were cleaned, and I spent the best part of a day polishing the Audi with zeal. Yeah...
 


The morning came and to say it was pissing it down was an understatement. In the dark on the M25, there was a lot o
f spray, putting paid to all my armwork the day before. To make matters worse, due to a huge geopolitical shift that shall go unnamed, the M20 was closed to park lorries all down it, so it was almost impossible to actually access the Channel Tunnel. Eventually following his nose, my father carved out a route taking us through the Kentish country lanes and we were able to sneak on to the motorway for the last stretch to get us where we needed to be. Once we had been through customs we were ready for the adventure to really begin. 


Our route was pretty simple: Head around 800 miles south, at 80 mph, going through the automotive intestine that is Lyon. With my father leading in the Nismo, I duly followed, and quickly found the Audi to be far more capable than I had bargained for. My father was dawdling around at 70, which actually began to really hinder my concentration. So much so, that I had to goad him to speed up to the legal limit of 130kph. There was some good reasoning behind his actions though, as for about 600 miles, the motorway was covered in standing water and with crosswinds for large parts. This was going to be a fight. 
Passing lorries with zero visibility. Crosswinds really knocking you for 6. The famously smooth French roads, so often the envy of British drivers, became akin to an ice rink, but with lorries whose spray always blew exactly where you had to go to pass. Keeping the car in a straight line was a battle, mile after mile. I found myself wishing I had got a quattro instead, before reminding myself that 4WD cannot cheat the wind. But the only thing that was faltering in the equation was me. The car was astoundingly good at long distance, high speed blasts. The engine was willing and had plenty of go in it whenever I was at the limit, and it cruised at 80 all day with little fuss. Halfway in however, I had to take a break. My father was, quite annoyingly, totally relaxed in the Nismo, the tuning shop Sportscar GT proving more comfortable than the family saloon, even if you couldn't get as much in it. I had to give a series of flashes denoting whether I needed a break, or the car needed fuel (spoiler alert, the latter was only needed twice), as he would just plod on through. We certainly made an interesting combo though, and the continental drivers were quite perturbed to see a 36 year old saloon overtaking them in the outside lane. Just doing what it was designed to do.


But 3/4 of the way to Lyon, the weather dried up a bit, and the roads opened out, and we could have some fine cruising. Many cassettes were played, from the likes of Duran Duran to a-ha, even a bit of Roxy Music, and of course I had the cassette adapter for my phone. Then we hit Lyon. 
For those who do not know, Lyon is like the small intestine, but of roads. Lots of congestion, lots of illogical layouts. A world of shit if you are a driver. A Huge tunnel with about 5 different entrances and exits, and we had to get the one that would take us to Provence. And we hit it as rush hour. N'ertheless, we waded through, and feeling extremely thankful I drove to Somerset a couple of days before to fit a new cooling fan. Then, after getting past an accident, we were able to get close to our goal. But in spite of how close they may appear on the map, Lyon is still 4 hours from Toulon, our target. France is Very Big. 
As night fell we went on, my concentration buckling under the strain. The French lack of cat's eyes really playing with my mind. But we went on. If I hadn't been exerting myself so hard earlier in the trip, I might have been better off. But then given my age, and this being my first automarathon, I shouldn't have really been surprised. Still, I flipped cassettes, kept the fan at full, and tried to focus on my IAM skills*
Not long before our destination, in the dark at around 21:30, I put the special magic cassette in. This allows me to play music from my phone through the cassette player. And next on my playlist was that anthem by The Sisters of Mercy, The Temple of Love (1994). This song seems to be the music equivalent of caffeine, and keep me awake far longer than other songs do. When I heard the opening I turned the volume up and prepared for the power. Shame the cassette wasn't prepared for it though, as it promptly gave up the ghost a minute in and left me in silence. It simply couldn't handle it. 
But by this time, I was close. So I decided to forgo anything else and try to concentrate. Though not before some questionable in car attempts to salvage the music.
The last few miles went by, and by the time I arrived in the picturesque walled village of Le Castellet, I had been going for 18 hours, and the odometer had climbed by almost 900 miles. 
  
 
And in the back of my mind I could hear echoes of Craig Armstrong's Ruthless Gravity, as featured in the 2003 Top Gear race to the South of France...  
 
 
Tune in next time to find out how through my trying to explain why a Renault 20 was a good idea, my godfather bought an Innocenti 1100S. And my first EV experience *gasp* 
But there can be no more tonight, I have just had to navigate the M25...
 
 
...And drive 3/4 of France

It has been quite quiet on my page for a while, this might offer some explanation...
Chapter 1: The Run du Soleil 
Due to a family event in the South of France where my guardians live, I felt it would be a good idea to make a trip out of it and get some experience driving on the continent. Given the Volvo's predicament, my only choice of transport was my still relatively new (to me) 1986 Audi 80 Sport, with 150k miles under it's belt and possibly some faults hiding, probably not.  My parents had to get there and back, as they couldn't stay, so they took the Nissan 370Z Nismo bought as a bit of fun (without* the asterisk) last year. Before departure I was fastidious in my checks, far more than normal. The fluids had been recently changed, but they were topped up and the tyres inflated to slightly over their recommended pressures to give better fuel economy on the motorways. Finally, the cars were cleaned, and I spent the best part of a day polishing the Audi with zeal. Yeah...
 


The morning came and to say it was pissing it down was an understatement. In the dark on the M25, there was a lot o
f spray, putting paid to all my armwork the day before. To make matters worse, due to a huge geopolitical shift that shall go unnamed, the M20 was closed to park lorries all down it, so it was almost impossible to actually access the Channel Tunnel. Eventually following his nose, my father carved out a route taking us through the Kentish country lanes and we were able to sneak on to the motorway for the last stretch to get us where we needed to be. Once we had been through customs we were ready for the adventure to really begin. 


Our route was pretty simple: Head around 800 miles south, at 80 mph, going through the automotive intestine that is Lyon. With my father leading in the Nismo, I duly followed, and quickly found the Audi to be far more capable than I had bargained for. My father was dawdling around at 70, which actually began to really hinder my concentration. So much so, that I had to goad him to speed up to the legal limit of 130kph. There was some good reasoning behind his actions though, as for about 600 miles, the motorway was covered in standing water and with crosswinds for large parts. This was going to be a fight. 
Passing lorries with zero visibility. Crosswinds really knocking you for 6. The famously smooth French roads, so often the envy of British drivers, became akin to an ice rink, but with lorries whose spray always blew exactly where you had to go to pass. Keeping the car in a straight line was a battle, mile after mile. I found myself wishing I had got a quattro instead, before reminding myself that 4WD cannot cheat the wind. But the only thing that was faltering in the equation was me. The car was astoundingly good at long distance, high speed blasts. The engine was willing and had plenty of go in it whenever I was at the limit, and it cruised at 80 all day with little fuss. Halfway in however, I had to take a break. My father was, quite annoyingly, totally relaxed in the Nismo, the tuning shop Sportscar GT proving more comfortable than the family saloon, even if you couldn't get as much in it. I had to give a series of flashes denoting whether I needed a break, or the car needed fuel (spoiler alert, the latter was only needed twice), as he would just plod on through. We certainly made an interesting combo though, and the continental drivers were quite perturbed to see a 36 year old saloon overtaking them in the outside lane. Just doing what it was designed to do.


But 3/4 of the way to Lyon, the weather dried up a bit, and the roads opened out, and we could have some fine cruising. Many cassettes were played, from the likes of Duran Duran to a-ha, even a bit of Roxy Music, and of course I had the cassette adapter for my phone. Then we hit Lyon. 
For those who do not know, Lyon is like the small intestine, but of roads. Lots of congestion, lots of illogical layouts. A world of shit if you are a driver. A Huge tunnel with about 5 different entrances and exits, and we had to get the one that would take us to Provence. And we hit it as rush hour. N'ertheless, we waded through, and feeling extremely thankful I drove to Somerset a couple of days before to fit a new cooling fan. Then, after getting past an accident, we were able to get close to our goal. But in spite of how close they may appear on the map, Lyon is still 4 hours from Toulon, our target. France is Very Big. 
As night fell we went on, my concentration buckling under the strain. The French lack of cat's eyes really playing with my mind. But we went on. If I hadn't been exerting myself so hard earlier in the trip, I might have been better off. But then given my age, and this being my first automarathon, I shouldn't have really been surprised. Still, I flipped cassettes, kept the fan at full, and tried to focus on my IAM skills*
Not long before our destination, in the dark at around 21:30, I put the special magic cassette in. This allows me to play music from my phone through the cassette player. And next on my playlist was that anthem by The Sisters of Mercy, The Temple of Love (1994). This song seems to be the music equivalent of caffeine, and keep me awake far longer than other songs do. When I heard the opening I turned the volume up and prepared for the power. Shame the cassette wasn't prepared for it though, as it promptly gave up the ghost a minute in and left me in silence. It simply couldn't handle it. 
But by this time, I was close. So I decided to forgo anything else and try to concentrate. Though not before some questionable in car attempts to salvage the music.
The last few miles went by, and by the time I arrived in the picturesque walled village of Le Castellet, I had been going for 18 hours, and the odometer had climbed by almost 900 miles. 
  
 
And in the back of my mind I could hear echoes of Craig Armstrong's Ruthless Gravity, as featured in the 2003 Top Gear race to the South of France...  
 
 
Tune in next time to find out how through my trying to explain why a Renault 20 was a good idea, my godfather bought an Innocenti 1100S. And my first EV experience *gasp* 
But there can be no more tonight, I have just had to navigate the M25...
 
 
...And drive 3/4 of France

It has been quite quiet on my page for a while, this might offer some explanation...
Chapter 1: The Run du Soleil 
Due to a family event in the South of France where my guardians live, I felt it would be a good idea to make a trip out of it and get some experience driving on the continent. Given the Volvo's predicament, my only choice of transport was my still relatively new (to me) 1986 Audi 80 Sport, with 150k miles under it's belt and possibly some faults hiding, probably not.  My parents had to get there and back, as they couldn't stay, so they took the Nissan 370Z Nismo bought as a bit of fun (without* the asterisk) last year. Before departure I was fastidious in my checks, far more than normal. The fluids had been recently changed, but they were topped up and the tyres inflated to slightly over their recommended pressures to give better fuel economy on the motorways. Finally, the cars were cleaned, and I spent the best part of a day polishing the Audi with zeal. Yeah...
 


The morning came and to say it was pissing it down was an understatement. In the dark on the M25, there was a lot o
f spray, putting paid to all my armwork the day before. To make matters worse, due to a huge geopolitical shift that shall go unnamed, the M20 was closed to park lorries all down it, so it was almost impossible to actually access the Channel Tunnel. Eventually following his nose, my father carved out a route taking us through the Kentish country lanes and we were able to sneak on to the motorway for the last stretch to get us where we needed to be. Once we had been through customs we were ready for the adventure to really begin. 


Our route was pretty simple: Head around 800 miles south, at 80 mph, going through the automotive intestine that is Lyon. With my father leading in the Nismo, I duly followed, and quickly found the Audi to be far more capable than I had bargained for. My father was dawdling around at 70, which actually began to really hinder my concentration. So much so, that I had to goad him to speed up to the legal limit of 130kph. There was some good reasoning behind his actions though, as for about 600 miles, the motorway was covered in standing water and with crosswinds for large parts. This was going to be a fight. 
Passing lorries with zero visibility. Crosswinds really knocking you for 6. The famously smooth French roads, so often the envy of British drivers, became akin to an ice rink, but with lorries whose spray always blew exactly where you had to go to pass. Keeping the car in a straight line was a battle, mile after mile. I found myself wishing I had got a quattro instead, before reminding myself that 4WD cannot cheat the wind. But the only thing that was faltering in the equation was me. The car was astoundingly good at long distance, high speed blasts. The engine was willing and had plenty of go in it whenever I was at the limit, and it cruised at 80 all day with little fuss. Halfway in however, I had to take a break. My father was, quite annoyingly, totally relaxed in the Nismo, the tuning shop Sportscar GT proving more comfortable than the family saloon, even if you couldn't get as much in it. I had to give a series of flashes denoting whether I needed a break, or the car needed fuel (spoiler alert, the latter was only needed twice), as he would just plod on through. We certainly made an interesting combo though, and the continental drivers were quite perturbed to see a 36 year old saloon overtaking them in the outside lane. Just doing what it was designed to do.


But 3/4 of the way to Lyon, the weather dried up a bit, and the roads opened out, and we could have some fine cruising. Many cassettes were played, from the likes of Duran Duran to a-ha, even a bit of Roxy Music, and of course I had the cassette adapter for my phone. Then we hit Lyon. 
For those who do not know, Lyon is like the small intestine, but of roads. Lots of congestion, lots of illogical layouts. A world of shit if you are a driver. A Huge tunnel with about 5 different entrances and exits, and we had to get the one that would take us to Provence. And we hit it as rush hour. N'ertheless, we waded through, and feeling extremely thankful I drove to Somerset a couple of days before to fit a new cooling fan. Then, after getting past an accident, we were able to get close to our goal. But in spite of how close they may appear on the map, Lyon is still 4 hours from Toulon, our target. France is Very Big. 
As night fell we went on, my concentration buckling under the strain. The French lack of cat's eyes really playing with my mind. But we went on. If I hadn't been exerting myself so hard earlier in the trip, I might have been better off. But then given my age, and this being my first automarathon, I shouldn't have really been surprised. Still, I flipped cassettes, kept the fan at full, and tried to focus on my IAM skills*
Not long before our destination, in the dark at around 21:30, I put the special magic cassette in. This allows me to play music from my phone through the cassette player. And next on my playlist was that anthem by The Sisters of Mercy, The Temple of Love (1994). This song seems to be the music equivalent of caffeine, and keep me awake far longer than other songs do. When I heard the opening I turned the volume up and prepared for the power. Shame the cassette wasn't prepared for it though, as it promptly gave up the ghost a minute in and left me in silence. It simply couldn't handle it. 
But by this time, I was close. So I decided to forgo anything else and try to concentrate. Though not before some questionable in car attempts to salvage the music.
The last few miles went by, and by the time I arrived in the picturesque walled village of Le Castellet, I had been going for 18 hours, and the odometer had climbed by almost 900 miles. 
  
 
And in the back of my mind I could hear echoes of Craig Armstrong's Ruthless Gravity, as featured in the 2003 Top Gear race to the South of France...  
 
 
Tune in next time to find out how through my trying to explain why a Renault 20 was a good idea, my godfather bought an Innocenti 1100S. And my first EV experience *gasp* 
But there can be no more tonight, I have just had to navigate the M25...
 
 
...And drive 3/4 of France

It has been quite quiet on my page for a while, this might offer some explanation...
Chapter 1: The Run du Soleil 
Due to a family event in the South of France where my guardians live, I felt it would be a good idea to make a trip out of it and get some experience driving on the continent. Given the Volvo's predicament, my only choice of transport was my still relatively new (to me) 1986 Audi 80 Sport, with 150k miles under it's belt and possibly some faults hiding, probably not.  My parents had to get there and back, as they couldn't stay, so they took the Nissan 370Z Nismo bought as a bit of fun (without* the asterisk) last year. Before departure I was fastidious in my checks, far more than normal. The fluids had been recently changed, but they were topped up and the tyres inflated to slightly over their recommended pressures to give better fuel economy on the motorways. Finally, the cars were cleaned, and I spent the best part of a day polishing the Audi with zeal. Yeah...
 


The morning came and to say it was pissing it down was an understatement. In the dark on the M25, there was a lot o
f spray, putting paid to all my armwork the day before. To make matters worse, due to a huge geopolitical shift that shall go unnamed, the M20 was closed to park lorries all down it, so it was almost impossible to actually access the Channel Tunnel. Eventually following his nose, my father carved out a route taking us through the Kentish country lanes and we were able to sneak on to the motorway for the last stretch to get us where we needed to be. Once we had been through customs we were ready for the adventure to really begin. 


Our route was pretty simple: Head around 800 miles south, at 80 mph, going through the automotive intestine that is Lyon. With my father leading in the Nismo, I duly followed, and quickly found the Audi to be far more capable than I had bargained for. My father was dawdling around at 70, which actually began to really hinder my concentration. So much so, that I had to goad him to speed up to the legal limit of 130kph. There was some good reasoning behind his actions though, as for about 600 miles, the motorway was covered in standing water and with crosswinds for large parts. This was going to be a fight. 
Passing lorries with zero visibility. Crosswinds really knocking you for 6. The famously smooth French roads, so often the envy of British drivers, became akin to an ice rink, but with lorries whose spray always blew exactly where you had to go to pass. Keeping the car in a straight line was a battle, mile after mile. I found myself wishing I had got a quattro instead, before reminding myself that 4WD cannot cheat the wind. But the only thing that was faltering in the equation was me. The car was astoundingly good at long distance, high speed blasts. The engine was willing and had plenty of go in it whenever I was at the limit, and it cruised at 80 all day with little fuss. Halfway in however, I had to take a break. My father was, quite annoyingly, totally relaxed in the Nismo, the tuning shop Sportscar GT proving more comfortable than the family saloon, even if you couldn't get as much in it. I had to give a series of flashes denoting whether I needed a break, or the car needed fuel (spoiler alert, the latter was only needed twice), as he would just plod on through. We certainly made an interesting combo though, and the continental drivers were quite perturbed to see a 36 year old saloon overtaking them in the outside lane. Just doing what it was designed to do.


But 3/4 of the way to Lyon, the weather dried up a bit, and the roads opened out, and we could have some fine cruising. Many cassettes were played, from the likes of Duran Duran to a-ha, even a bit of Roxy Music, and of course I had the cassette adapter for my phone. Then we hit Lyon. 
For those who do not know, Lyon is like the small intestine, but of roads. Lots of congestion, lots of illogical layouts. A world of shit if you are a driver. A Huge tunnel with about 5 different entrances and exits, and we had to get the one that would take us to Provence. And we hit it as rush hour. N'ertheless, we waded through, and feeling extremely thankful I drove to Somerset a couple of days before to fit a new cooling fan. Then, after getting past an accident, we were able to get close to our goal. But in spite of how close they may appear on the map, Lyon is still 4 hours from Toulon, our target. France is Very Big. 
As night fell we went on, my concentration buckling under the strain. The French lack of cat's eyes really playing with my mind. But we went on. If I hadn't been exerting myself so hard earlier in the trip, I might have been better off. But then given my age, and this being my first automarathon, I shouldn't have really been surprised. Still, I flipped cassettes, kept the fan at full, and tried to focus on my IAM skills*
Not long before our destination, in the dark at around 21:30, I put the special magic cassette in. This allows me to play music from my phone through the cassette player. And next on my playlist was that anthem by The Sisters of Mercy, The Temple of Love (1994). This song seems to be the music equivalent of caffeine, and keep me awake far longer than other songs do. When I heard the opening I turned the volume up and prepared for the power. Shame the cassette wasn't prepared for it though, as it promptly gave up the ghost a minute in and left me in silence. It simply couldn't handle it. 
But by this time, I was close. So I decided to forgo anything else and try to concentrate. Though not before some questionable in car attempts to salvage the music.
The last few miles went by, and by the time I arrived in the picturesque walled village of Le Castellet, I had been going for 18 hours, and the odometer had climbed by almost 900 miles. 
  
 
And in the back of my mind I could hear echoes of Craig Armstrong's Ruthless Gravity, as featured in the 2003 Top Gear race to the South of France...  
 
 
Tune in next time to find out how through my trying to explain why a Renault 20 was a good idea, my godfather bought an Innocenti 1100S. And my first EV experience *gasp* 
But there can be no more tonight, I have just had to navigate the M25...
 
 
...And drive 3/4 of France

Sterling is tight and it's nice and light above 10 or 15 mph. Despite American 70s soft suspension it seems to handle well and not overly rolly-poly.
As soon as the carbs are in a better state of tune (I tried today but got interrupted by the GF and given a dirty look -ironic as it's her project)
And also fit a new temp sender I will relax and  enjoy the moment instead  looking at the temp gauge like this and panicking! (Key on and it maxes  out straight away)

Absolutely agreed, just wreaks of 70s muscle (and tobacco most likely as it should). I thought one of the Black Princes was turned into a dragster, but I'm probably crossing my wires. Does anyone know what these cars (FD/FE VX4/90) are actually worth? I've hardly ever seen them for sale

Bloomin 'eck
I have only just found this thread an wow, what a survivor. 
These have long been top of my 70s dream list, what is it like to drive?
I already have Sam Tyler's jacket (well a replica) so have long been looking for a 70s bruiser....

https://www.facebook.com/marketplace/item/2813980562236832/?ref=search&referral_code=marketplace_search&referral_story_type=post&tracking=browse_serp%3A8da22535-cbdc-428e-a9b8-4a66e0ad7e87

HFM?!?!?!

I think you can probably name your price for a really top FD VX4/90, or any big-engined car in good condition or a nice spec. I've seen five figures asked, but not sure if they ever get there.
IIRC the Black Prince was an absolute lash-up and a horror to drive. Maybe I'm misremembering, I'll have to dig out the road test. I'm sure it's generally thought they only built two because they were absolutely lethal and few people were stupid enough to buy one. Still deffo would, obvs.

One of the two Black Princes has been for sale a few times over the last few years. I remember when it first popped up back in 2013 (!) I was really surprised, thinking it had long ago been scrapped. Last log book was issued in that year, so perhaps it did find a new home. The second car was supposedly cut up years and years ago. One was manual, the other auto, and I can't remember which one survives.
Also worth mentioning that these are the BEST LOOKING British saloon of the era. So weird that Vauxhall was building the ugliest cars on the market (HA Viva, FC Victor) which were replaced by the best looking ones (HB Viva, FD Victor). Anyway I'd absolutely love one of these things.

https://www.facebook.com/marketplace/item/700070914515302/?ref=search&referral_code=marketplace_search&referral_story_type=post&tracking=browse_serp%3A53bafacf-2cc8-4ec9-ae86-ed328ec7f247

Cheapish P6B. I am starting to really like these, A lot. Near where I live too, but being in the Porton Down Danger Area, buy at your own risk 😆

https://www.facebook.com/marketplace/item/700070914515302/?ref=search&referral_code=marketplace_search&referral_story_type=post&tracking=browse_serp%3A53bafacf-2cc8-4ec9-ae86-ed328ec7f247

Cheapish P6B. I am starting to really like these, A lot. Near where I live too, but being in the Porton Down Danger Area, buy at your own risk 😆

https://www.facebook.com/marketplace/item/700877100973278/?ref=browse_tab&referral_code=marketplace_top_picks&referral_story_type=top_picks

Only on FB marketplace...

https://www.facebook.com/marketplace/item/1763732003978135/?ref=search&referral_code=marketplace_search&referral_story_type=post&tracking=browse_serp%3Ad5350fc6-69da-44ae-9e02-0373d2d09e3e
And the best bit
 

https://www.facebook.com/marketplace/item/700070914515302/?ref=search&referral_code=marketplace_search&referral_story_type=post&tracking=browse_serp%3A53bafacf-2cc8-4ec9-ae86-ed328ec7f247

Cheapish P6B. I am starting to really like these, A lot. Near where I live too, but being in the Porton Down Danger Area, buy at your own risk 😆

If you hover your mouse over this image on the eBay link it actually looks like a giant dog is shitting on that blokes head
 

Kawasaki Z1000 ST 1979 Low Miles V5c Historic Registered Lovely Condition | eBay