Screaching to a halt

The sickening sound of metal on metal coupled with little feedback from the brake pedal suggested 63,480 would chime new discs, pads and related consumables. To my surprise and Palmer's credit, servicing revealed pristine discs but glazed pads. Cleaning both and re-greasing the rear drums has restored serene, progressive braking. However, the driver's side suspension arm bushings had disintegrated, necessitating replacement to the tune of £75 inc VAT. The next big, foreseeable expense will be the clutch, although being as urban driving is kept to a minimum, I'm hoping it'll hold out past the 75,000 mark. While an unseasonably temperate March permitted healthy application of Waxoyl to both chassis, under body and panels; surface corrosion rears its ugly head along the sills, despite several coats of Hammerite. To counter this, I've ordered some marine grade zinc primer and will sand the affected areas to bare metal before applying several thin coats. Realistically, this won't completely eradicate the problem since galvanising was a dirty word on the Valencia lines but is a step in the right direction nonetheless.

Frequently driving through the UK's once prosperous industrial heartlands and having witnessed Ford's Dagenham body plant first hand, I am struck by the paradox that factories were hard and monotonous environments claiming the lives of their local communities, yet conversely defined and kept them alive. Car plants in particular paid well for semi/unskilled labour and provided continuity for many generations. The disappearance of manufacturing left behind a sense of hopelessness and indeed worklessness for many who for whatever reason couldn't make the transition to other industries including the service sector and "knowledge based" economies. In the mid 1990s I wrote an academic piece entitled " Last Tango in Dagenham" concerned with the low educational attainment in Barking and Dagenham compared with neighbouring inner city boroughs. My hypothesis suggested it was the area's historic links with Ford that perpetrated a myth that schooling/education per se was immaterial since there would always be jobs for life on the line. However, this philosophy didn't account for the changing demands of industry and according to the School's liaison officer, most leaving the school gates within the catchment areas wouldn't meet the basic requirements for even the most routine assembly line duties.

A multitude of factors have influened a yearning to write a book about the former midlands car industry and specifically those working within it through the 70s, 80's to the final days of Peugeot...Got a story, know someone who'd like to contribute? Drop me a line.

Too Close For Comfort

By and large it's fair to say things have been pleasantly uneventful since my last entry-bimbling up and down the highways and byways with little more than regular fuel stops, cleaning and routine preventative maintenance.

There have been a few notable exceptions. One Sunday toward the close of June en route to joining the M25 at Reigate we were stopped and questioned by the police, allegedly for driving too carefully. There proceeded a reasonably good humoured exchange concerning the accuracy of Kushi's speedometer which appears to be calibrated three mph faster (i.e. we're doing 27mph when it's registering 30). This isn't uncommon and the only vehicles with precise calibration are police patrol cars-for obvious reasons. There was nothing particularly invasive, or menacing in either the apprehending officer's demeanor or delivery but I engaged him in the minimum of conversation, if only to eliminate the possibility of talking myself into trouble.

In my experience as a photographer, the most likely reason for being stopped and questioned is under the guise of "anti terror/public order" legislation (Oft referred to as sections 43/44). Section 44 is now widely regarded as unlawful and largely replaced by section 43 which theoretically means a police officer cannot simply stop and search or confiscate equipment but must be able to demonstrate "Reasonable" suspicion of criminal intent. While trying to retain a sense of objectivity, in practice should a police officer decide to detain you, they will tailor circumstances to suit.

Father's day and 47,590 miles brought with it some deeply unsettling electro-mechanical failure some eighty-odd miles from home on the M25. This manifest itself in an erratic misfire, marked loss of power, interspersed with juddering and angrily flickering engine light eerily reminiscent of Florence's camshaft demise that fateful New Year's afternoon. Throttle steady, we eased along at sixty, hoping for the best, preparing for the worst, imagining every scenario from a temperamental idle speed control valve, alternator while banishing the C word that strikes fear into my soul, not to mention wallet.

Limping back to the village and into Palmer's yard, I hurriedly composed a note with the keys, sealed them in an envelope and posted them through the office door. Monday meandered sans reassuring, or ruinous phone call. Having prolonged the inevitable long enough at 3pm I roused sufficient courage and dialed the garage. John Carter answered and put my mind at rest-no doom, simply an expired ignition coil-a fault seemingly common to the breed and easily remedied with a test and replacement component to the tune of £105.

The little Duratec has otherwise been impeccably behaved, requiring only the lightest drizzle of oil. Stoical through recent heat and slow crawls along the M25, M6 and M1 motorways, we've passed a precession of stricken, overheating Fiesta and pretty much every other marque, their unfortunate owners gazing despondently into expiring engines, clouds of steam belching beneath opened bonnets. Soaring temperatures (by British standards at least), breakdowns, congestion and air conditioning seem synonymous with summer. Air conditioning is one of those occasionally useful luxuries very welcome these past few weeks but falls under my list of additional expense/more complication. Kushi's engine bay suggests this mod con came factory fitted but further delving confirms otherwise.

Better investment would be in terms of braking. The common or garden small front wheel drive car configuration of vented front discs and drum works well enough but they've always been a little soft. The first rainfall in several weeks turned otherwise well-surfaced roads into skidpans.

Easing into a sharp bend, we were confronted by an oncoming double decker bus. Simultaneous braking and gentle steering helped but a rogue patch of diesel saw us careering toward this traffic bollard. We stopped with millimetres to spare. Had I been travelling any faster than 25mph the story could've been very, very different.

Received wisdom suggests replacing the pads every eighteen thousand miles or exceed this and go the whole disc and pads route. Another couple of thousand on the clock and we'll pop into Palmer's for fresh pads...Prevention's always better than cure....