Towns Called Malice

55,357

Told you trade was relatively slow. Been chasing about to the seaside towns and more locally getting shots that might well define the social consequences of economic downturn but as yet there's no sense of public anger or unrest. Photographers studios lay bare along the high streets, a stream of unopened mail scattered around the floor the only footfall, others stand boarded shut while bohemian craft stalls seem sullen, if grateful for every solitary pound that changed hands.

"The empire strikes back" is my assessment of the social phenomenon detailed here. It has little to do with spending cuts in the interests of public solvency/ long term socio-economic prosperity and more in keeping with eroding the post war reforms to education, opportunity and health. Cooperative communities are in my view cohesive to meritocratic, upward social mobility and more egalitarian social frameworks. However, I'm pleased to report from a micro climate some small businesses are presently flourishing but this serves to illustrate how economically interlinked we all are. Remove money from the economy and reduced consumer spending, whether derived from earned income or benefits will see large sections collapse like the proverbial house of cards with costly social consequence. Increasing, rather than slashing benefits might not be ideologically sound for some but in the short term at least, would support a fragile economy and prevent those most likely to be reliant upon state assistance losing their employment. These people have cars, consumer durables and other items. Should they choose not to have their cars serviced, their hair cut or indeed that Friday night takeaway, our local economies shrink. "Gentrification" of inner city areas including Hackney, Waltham Forest amongst others during the mid 1980s under the premise that such sweeteners would bring the middle classes and by default,prosperity/investment had little positive impact upon the immediate, established communities. The affluent newcomers enjoyed relatively cheap housing, convenient commuting to city jobs/restaurants and other amenities while the skilled artisans and businesses retired or relocated. It is difficult to predict whether we will see social unrest of the sort last witnessed during this period or whether people will seek solace in cheap liquor and sit huddled in their homes akin to the passover."People getting angry" is an immortal line from the Specials' seminal track " Ghost Town" arguably defining the immediate era of post 1970s Britain. "Tell me why?"; Is another extremely poignant song penned and composed in response to a brutal racist attack that rendered Lynval Golding hospitalised after he left a South London nightclub accompanied by two white women. In recent weeks I have been threatened twice while driving through Leytonstone by a black man in his mid twenties driving a very distinctive Q plate VW based kit car. Is this deep seated racial prejudice, simple unprovoked, pick- a- fight thuggery or a case of mistaken identity on his part?

Racism is widely regarded as a singularly white, male phenomenon, most prevalent amongst those from the lower economic sub-strata when it is inherently more complex. For several decades, young men of black and Asian origin have been subjected to inequalities of legal representation and disproportionately harsh sentencing compared with white counterparts committing (or at least "guilty")of the same offences. Drawing parallels with third wave feminism's inability to successfully challenge and obliterate reductionist two-dimensional gender stereotypes, there is a disturbing hypocrisy amongst some who use colonialism and slavery as justification for their own deep seated prejudices.

He's just a stereotype, he drinks his age in pints, he has girls every night and he doesn't really exist... Ignorance, prejudice and hatred serve to profit those who gain advantage from dividing and fragmenting people. Equal opportunities hiaraches are developed by careerists who control thought and the use of language in terms that are positively Orwellian while failing to have any positive effect upon the day to day experiences of the surgeon who is systematically undermined/ humiliated in a professional capacity by her colleagues, or the hirsute young man stopped and searched in the street because he fits a very simplistic "terrorist" profile. Sat in a Polish cafe' one afternoon, one such bureaucrat blundered through the door demanding to see documentation.

I squirmed in my seat (nursing a large coffee and awaiting my meal) as he conducted himself in the most patronising manner imaginable with a woman whose command of English rivaled, if not exceeded his own. The moment of reckoning came when he asked to see "The licence for the stripper"... Her polite tolerance vanished, cake and coffee retracted, replaced with a stern retort. Needless to say, he left looking very sheepish and muttered something about returning in a couple of weeks.

One of my favourite myths is that of the "repressed" Indian woman but no-one notices as the strong, independent but deeply feminine figure slips from a sari into leathers and across town on a 750cc Suzuki leaving everyone else "ten paces behind".

"Uncle" Benny, director of Sowman plumbing & Heating LTD has busied himself with some renovation works to his MG Metro turbo. Faded wings are being resprayed, presenting the opportunity for some mild engine fettling/tidying. Next to go is the dubious dump valve. Installed by the previous owner, welding is workman like at best-although the jury's out as to whether it's sloppy TIG or just mediocre MIG. Benny's vision is to employ the services of a skilled machine shop and have them cut out the offending area, neatly welding a plate in its place.

54,100 Another service, bulb and two front tyres

Fifty four thousand, one hundred miles was as close to the ten thousand service interval as I wanted to get, particularly since the condition of drum and disc brakes needed establishing. Received wisdom and past experience suggests pad replacements every nineteen thousand miles, more in urban contexts or the discs will be tantamount to scrap. Interestingly, braking was given the all clear but the two front tyres were down to the legal limit and frankly, my trade seems to attract sufficient police introspection without giving them additional/just cause for reprimand. That aside it was simply routine plugs, filters oil and a replacement bulb. Total bill £255 including VAT.

Autumn has become progressively drier, albeit cooler but hasn't presented opportune moment for further chassis waxoyling. However, I took the precautionary measure of shooting some WD40 into locking mechanisms, touched up a few stone chips before treating the coachwork to a thorough hard paste polishing seeing as the Ka finish needs a little help and pigeons have been taking rather accurate, acidic aim at the panels. The driver's side mat is looking increasingly threadbare too so I'll replace that come the next available opportunity.

Work's been slow these past few weeks-allows me to concentrate on some other pressing matters. Cash flow has certainly taken a dive but in these straitened times, creative types have to get creative... Is this a crisis or the opportunity for greater collectivism? I'm not referring to the cynical rhetoric espoused by the political elite but a greater sense in which people form workers cooperatives and other, similarly empowering collaborations. The potential has never been greater but the question remains whether people will actively embrace this or will online activity remain deeply routed in rudimentary one dimensional pornography and consumerism...

Ending on a happier note, Florence has been seen driven locally- We'd had some adventures and very happy times together-maybe our paths will cross again.

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....

Down to Bath and up to Brum…Stopping at the Brothel? (!)

The middle of April saw us heading along the M4 in the early hours of the morning on a business trip to the ancient and arguably very beautiful city of Bath. Unfortunately, heavy road works coincided with my entry to the M25, extending the journey by two hours and nearly rupturing my bladder into the bargain. Fuel economy averages around 360-380 miles to a full tank dependant upon accidents, detour and delay but is pretty impressive nonetheless, although I’m not quite so endeared to the ever escalating fuel prices. Five years ago filling the tank from hero to zero cost £25 now it hovers around £40.
Fossil fuels are undoubtedly a finite resource but the greed of oil companies and their shareholders irks me somewhat. Bath is a city in the West Country and a very beautiful one busy but without the frenetic feel of say London and Birmingham. The purpose of this visit was business-an editorial meeting followed by some after hours’ fun and a very steady drive back the following afternoon. On so many levels it was good to escape, meet with much respected contributors and to let one’s metaphorical hair down- I was mildly amused to discover another publishing house had been spending considerable quantities on Maserati and cocaine!
Back with a bump, I found myself in the surreal position of photographing men frequenting a brothel from an external staircase of a solicitor’s in the not so salubrious seaside town of Southend. In keeping with many old resorts, there are some very affluent areas but an increasing migration of people displaced from various parts of the country sees many of the once grandiose hotels and guest houses converted into flats, bed-sits etc housing individuals and families often unwanted by the London boroughs. By the same token, I’ll confess to a love of decay-at least from a photographic standpoint. Salt air’s not good for coachwork and our old friends Joe and Joanna rot had been busily breeding around Kushi’s sills again. The warmer weather and lighter evenings have presented opportunity for further purging- sanded back to bare metal, followed by several coats of rust-busting primer and finally, light applications of Neptune green top-coats as time and climate allow. A few days later and once again Kushi and I were headed 165 miles up to Birmingham to see Melody Gardot, get a few shots of some abandoned buildings and even a quick saunter around Spark hill and a butcher’s at the Bull-ring and of course the bubble wrap building exterior it’s sections notoriously removed by drunken revellers wanting a souvenir. Melody, (including her comparatively dignified wardrobe malfunction) certainly captured my imagination as she wowed, teased and engaged the audience in equal measure with a warm, if ever-so- slightly brash New York charm. Birmingham has a notoriously complex road network so I left Kushi in the outskirts, making a trip to the city centre and staying in a concept hotel-not this abandoned car park opposite (although those close to me will doubtless understand its significance and moreover appeal). 44, 800 miles chimed time for servicing. Received wisdom suggests 10,000 (or once yearly) but by this point, the engine oil will have literally lost any protective qualities. Ironically, entering the garage yard, one that drew fascination and enchantment as a young boy, I spotted Florence sitting quietly in the exact same spot as I left it on that fateful January morning. It had obviously moved at some point and I’m reasoning cannibalised for spares. Nonetheless, seeing it again conjured some very fond memories and strong sentiments but then, this speaks volumes about my psyche. Sure I can make very prudent, dare I say; rational business decisions but I am not a businessman as cut from the traditional cloth. So to its successor’s servicing. This was a very straightforward plugs, filters, fluids affair with a lick of grease, tweaked handbrake cable and replacement driver’s side wiper blade £138 including VAT. (Thanks go to the good folk at Palmers for their skill and moreover, constructive approach to repairs and servicing). There have been some very surreal moments in amongst our mile munching meanders too. Drawing up at the lane leading to my son’s primary school, I hadn’t so much as engaged the handbrake when two of the middle class mothers of moral majority began tittering amongst themselves-in truth they shot a look more commonly associated with the 1978 remake of “Invasion of the Body snatchers” with Messer’s Nimoy, Sutherland et al.

The reason for this mirth being my door magnet promoting “Stenning Photographic” which had been somewhat twisted in translation (talk about lost consonants) to “Stenning Pornographic”. The two women continued this hysteria to the point where I had neither the inclination, nor patience to correct or otherwise engage them in any dialog. Clearly (he says tongue firmly tongue in cheek) they had succumbed to Riche’s construct of neurosis- yes, the psychologist from the Freudian school of thought who asserted neurosis derived from the absence of orgasm.

This location also gave rise to chance encounter with a busty Polish Au pair and her 98 plate Ka- also finished in Neptune green but with the elderly and ominously tappety Endura unit. Seeing me emerge from Kushi, the young woman approached and asked if I thought her engine needed attention. "Tappets" I replied with a smile, explaining these were prone to misalignment on the Endura, requiring about forty minutes skilled garage labour every five thousand miles or so. Hers didn't sound as if someone had thrown the proverbial bag of bolts in but a little too vocal nonetheless. If 77,000 miles were genuine and services regular, this shouldn't present too many nasty surprises....

Oh no, It’s raining again.

39,000 miles presented a very wet driver’s side footwell. My heart sank, reasoning in between bouts of denial that such must be the dreaded Ka curse lamented by owners and denied by Ford main dealerships across the land. Water was probably entering through a faulty seal around the bulkhead and therefore not strictly an electro-mechanical fault likely to be covered under warrantee.

Had it been a wet passenger footwell, I could’ve blamed a blocked pollen filter, possibly a faulty door seal or something less daunting. However, given diagnosis pushes repair bills skyward, I set about dismissing the most obvious. Simple tests ruled out a faulty windscreen seal, heating matrix and at least water wasn’t entering through the dash and ruinously contaminating the electrics. A business like but friendly email to the dealer withholding my true fears induced a very positive telephone conversation-he was happy for the coach works to investigate-even through as I suspected, seals in the strictest sense weren’t covered. Rescheduling some business appointments, I left Kushi complete with my business card on Monday morning, the sales manager reassured me he’d call just as soon as he knew, adding they’d need a couple of days to be really thorough. With that I handed over the keys, rescued my camera equipment and arranged for someone to collect me. Close of business on the Tuesday confirmed defective sealing around the bulkhead-which the coach works had resolved- free of charge as a gesture of goodwill. Cynically one might suggest this was the dealer knowing their statutory obligations but wanting to be seen as doing the consumer a favour. Maybe so but then knee jerk cynicism is the lazy option chosen by those seeking simplicity in a world full of complexity and contradiction. Educated in the school of the streets when it comes to cars and having met everyone from dealers posing as private sellers and dubious breakers’ yards through to genuine old school craft trained coach builders, I retain a healthy sense of cynicism, gut instinct and won’t enter into business with those I do not trust-for whatever reason. My thanks go to Fred Heale at D&G cars for his customer focus and for genuinely fair business practice. Other than a fiddly driver’s side bulb replacement and a quick drop of oil, we celebrated 40,000 and the first taste of March sunshine with a thorough Waxoyling of the chassis. Pump action pressure spray long since expired I left the drum marinating in a bucket of boiling before pouring the molten fluid into a separate container and applying with a brush. Petrochemicals are never pleasant to work with and two hours later I emerged light headed but reassured corrosion wouldn’t be an issue.

Taking the belt and braces approach to corrosion prevention, I will give a further, light application come September before the weather has chance to turn bandit. I consciously use the clear Waxoyl as this makes considerably less mess and sends a clear message to MOT testers and anyone else inspecting the underside that you are a caring owner seeking to preserve their vehicle rather than disguising an underlying problem. A large five litre drum is the most cost effective purchase- I’ve treated two Ka and several lightweight bicycle frames internally with a third of drum remaining. The resourceful (and dare I say tight) will be pleased to know a comparable mixture can be brewed at home using very simple ingredients commonly available from most hardware stores.

Home brewed corrosion inhibitor…Here’s what you’ll need:

2.3 litres of Turpentine
12oz Bees/Candle wax
1 Litre machine oil
(Old) cheese grater
(Old) Wooden Spoon
Clearly Marked Container (Pump spray pesticide types from garden centres are ideal).

Boil, Boil, Toil & Trouble

First pour the turpentine into the container, grater the wax into the turpentine and blend laboriously until completely dissolved using the wooden spoon. Now add the machine oil-this will thin it to a spray able consistency. Apply to chassis, inside door cavities etc as required ensuring plenty of ventilation. This is an extremely flammable mixture. Do not smoke (or permit others to do so) anywhere near it and always store securely away from pets, children and sources of ignition/naked flame.


If you have any doubts, however small, purchase a commercially available variant.

Florence & Kushi- An introduction to the breed

I like Ford’s little dodgem car. Sure the Ka might have some frustrating little foibles, galvanising is notably absent and demands owner input in the guise of periodic Waxoling of both chassis and panels. Rumour suggests the long production life is not because of popularity per se but Ford not having recouped adequate return on their investment in the same fashion as they have the Fiesta (Upon which the Ka is based). Therefore, taken at face value, galvanising the body would eat deeper into already slender profit margins. However, they’re fun to drive, legroom is surprisingly generous at the front while parts, running costs and fuel consumption are positively frugal. Reassuringly in an age of engine management systems demanding extensive, not to mention expensive diagnostic software, the Ka is electro-mechanically simple (especially the Endura and more refined Duratec eight valve engines). The old Endura push rod design while tappety and in some earlier models, prone to premature camshaft demise is a particularly simple beast with impressive amounts of torque. Very early models were pretty basic-even to the exclusion of power steering-although this is standard from the Ka2 onward. Quicker on the uptake-especially around town, the older engine will whiz very cheerfully up to the legal limit and even manages a genuine 96mph but feels noticeably revvy and agricultural at motorway speeds. By contrast, the Duratec is notably quieter, characterised by greater top end A road and motorway "cruising" power, albeit at the expense of urban grunt.

My introduction to the breed was totally serendipitous. July 2005- saw I acquired the Ka2 from my mother as replacement for a very thirsty 1800cc 16 valve Escort bought sixteen months previously from a dealer posing as a private seller. Said hulk suffered catastrophic engine failure on the final mile home having collected my then two-year old from nursery. With 38,000 miles on the clock and two female owner/drivers, the 98 registered Ka (referred to affectionately as Florence) covered a heady 90,000 miles in all weathers with only minor problems and typical outlay on consumables. One of the most frustrating gremlins curses the idle speed control valve causing the car to stall at junctions-cleaning with solvent cures this and its readily accessible. Florence even survived a 60mph rear end shunt from a 96 plate Peugeot 306 (writing off the latter but simply demanding a new rear bumper and light spraying but no structural damage). Sadly, after becoming rapidly noisier over the festive season the camshaft blew on New Year’s Day while trundling along the M25…
Kushi is the replacement- another eight valve, low mileage example with one previous owner and full service history.Updated styling and instruments include a rev counter, digital tachometer, internal boot release and CD player bring further refinement. Dealer purchased, I noted some tell-tale sill rot but all the panels were sound and sanding the area to bare metal before treating with several coats of rust inhibiting primer has solved the problem-I’ll apply the “Neptune Green” top coats in the spring to coincide with a thorough Waxoyling-performing this now could simply seal road salt and other corrosives in.
As a general rule with all models, the silent killer strikes in several key areas-usually with tell-tale bubbling beneath the paint along the sills, in a circular pattern around the fuel filler cap and sometimes the doors. Treating promptly and Waxolying the chassis annually is the best medicine. Aside from paying particular attention to these these when inspecting a potential purchase, floor pans and boots mustn't be overlooked. Some have problems with water foiling defective seals-typically through the windscreen and travelling inside through the bulkhead-although this isn’t a specific Ka gripe- Focus and Mondeo are also prone to this-most notably when the car is parked on an incline. Feeedback on forums suggests Ford dealers often deny the issue or effect indifferent repair. Models with air conditioning and pollen filters can present similar symptoms so be warned….

Therefore, smile a lot and walk very quickly from anything smelling of stale water. Earlier cars are permitted to sound slightly louder but check the mechanical tappets have been regularly adjusted (as often as every five thousand miles to the tune of around £50 a time) and for regular oil changes-the manuals say 12,500 miles but I wouldn’t stray beyond 10 and grumbling engines can indicate worn camshafts or oil starvation which are both very bad news-camshafts costing around £600 including labour which is uneconomic-especially if you’re buying at the bottom end of the used market either as a first or secondary run about. The sixteen valve Zetec common to the Fiesta is arguably the most refined of them all and seems pretty durable so long as service intervals are adhered to and cam-belts checked/replaced on cue. However, eight valves is what I know and definitely the better choice if running older vehicles as they give plenty of warning before anything too costly or catastrophic takes hold. Brakes are the soft but effective disc front, drum rear configurations- change the front pads every eighteen thousand miles or budget for new discs too-around £100 for both contracted out to a trustworthy independent garage/mechanic. Suspension arm bushes can fail quite quickly- MOT failure but easily and fairly cheaply replaced (Budget for £150 pair including fitting). Bulbs too are cheaply and easily located while fuses accessible should the need to replace one arise. Before we become hysterical or neurotic, it’s important to remember as with any vehicle, these are potential problems and unless you’re really unlucky, only a few might present themselves. This is very much an introduction and I have deliberately strayed away from regurgitating every last potential fault or gripe-this is Ka ownership with wider and hopefully, entertaining horizons.