My dad is 82, when I asked him why he wouldn't go on a coach trip arranged by the local pensioners group he said "There's no way you'll get me on a bus full of old fogeys!" On the other hand I've been cynical since I was a young man, another word for cynical is 'experienced', no one is born cynical as far as I know.



I like that Hardy, nice sentiment. When I looked out from my prison bars all I saw was Salford. My (then) wife complained that I didn't write her many letters from inside and I tried to explain that there simply wasn't any privacy to write in prison. "Even the toilets don't have any doors" I said. The next letter I received from her she wrote; "How do you get in to use them then?"

By saying in the above post that I wanted a 'proper' classic I have perhaps used the wrong word as that tends to make it sound as though the 2cv isn't one. I don't think that for a moment so I gladly put that straight right here. What I should have said was a more substantially built classic. I'm beginning to weary of things being so flimsy yet being worth so much money.

In the 1980's you could sell a normal pair of blue jeans costing around a tenner to the Russians for eighty or ninety quid a pair. They thought that was a fantastic price and paid it eagerly, I thought it was too much but it was the going rate, the (black) 'market' price. I'm feeling like that again, if someone wants my 2cv for three grand I'd sell it to them. Unfortunately, I have been told by the brains of the outfit this morning that we either run the 2cv or buy a camper, so I'm not as eager to sell as I was this morning.

Old Nail, it does seem pretty likely that at some point over the short or medium term, you and your wonderful car will be saying 'bye bye' to eachother. At that time, it'll be painful for both of you (c'mon, I mean you and yer missus...), but, regrets? Non. 'Cos you have turned that 2CV into one of the very best most of us have ever seen, and that cannot, surely, allow any cause for regret?

Damn right it should achieve £3k. And the rest. And that should not - in any sense whatsoever, not for a nano-second - be a cause for guilt; it's a car most of us would be hugely proud to own. You must, by now, have a pretty good idea of what I, personally, think of what you've done with your Ol' Blue; there isn't any aspect of it whatsoever that does anything but 'hit the mark' for me; it's a masterclass in taste. In short, it's become my inspiration. In any row of 2CVs, it'd be the one that would stop most people in their tracks to demand an extra lingering look.

Get the idea?! So, you've done the world a favour by creating this unique car. And your reward should be to be able to move on to another classic if that's what rocks your boat (and that Vanguard made my jaw drop - bludy 'ell, it's stunning...)

Mind you, your missus seems to have a bigger vision - one which goes some way beyond just the 'next classic'...

I can't help thinking that your plan of a new car will only stall the 'bigger picture' for another year or two - which may not be a good thing, whilst your missus' could mean realising your ultimate dream sooner - & always with the potential of adding the odd classic car on top as opportunity allows.

Whatever you decide, make the move with no guilt or regrets at all - it has all been earned.

Sheesh... DA I think I'll let you write the ad'.

My Mrs Looks further into the future than I do, I have more of a 'here and now' mentality. Instant gratification is my drug of choice, what I want now - I want today, because I might not want it again by next Friday. Such is my topsy turvy world. That's why I put the Mrs in charge of making all the sensible decisions - because I can't. I'm completely incapable of making a decision based on rational thought or good sense, if we were short of bread and milk at home I'd go out and buy Ice-cream

Wandering off topic a little I was wondering how many of you have this little book.



The Citroen 2cv 1948 – 1982.



I spent the day reading it and can recommend it to those who like to read old road tests from years gone by - because that’s what this book is. It’s a compilation of around twenty or so road tests taken from period magazines such as ‘The Motor.’ The book gives a comprehensive insight into the various stages of 2cv development, with the motoring pundits’ reactions and subsequent views faithfully recorded. There are even a couple of Bijou tests in there.



I reserve my Sundays for doing nothing. The way I see it, if I’m doing stuff for other people all week then Sunday is my jealously guarded day of self indulgent laziness, complete with cups of tea and a stack of magazines. This morning I chopped some logs, built up a real coal fire in the living room, stacked a pile of old books and car magazines beside the settee, and that was me for the day – feet up bliss!

It’s hardly rock ‘n roll I know, but throw in a regular cup of Tea and the odd Hob-Nob biscuit - or a Jaffa cake or two, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. If my old mum could see me now! I’m sure she still thinks I go out raping and pillaging of a weekend. She rang me up the other day to wish me a happy birthday (it wasn’t my birthday that day) and told me that she’d seen a film recently and the man in it had reminded her of me. “Who was that then?” I asked, wondering which film star idol I was flatteringly being compared to.

“Michael Douglas” she said.

“But mum I don’t look anything like Michael Douglas”

“No...You don’t look like him, but he was just like you in that film, he did the same sort of things that you do, that’s why he reminded me of you”.

Intrigued, I asked her what the film was called as maybe I’ll watch it for myself.

“Falling Down” she said.

Falling Down - Great! Not only does my mother not know the birth date of her first born, she considers him a homicidal sociopath. Well I’ve mellowed, and I’m now surrounded by old copies of ‘Car Mechanics’ or ancient editions of ‘Practical Motorist’ that still smell of the 1950’s when you open them. Also to hand is the 2cv book that I mentioned above which is just long enough to read from cover to cover in a single afternoon, a far less energetic pastime than wreaking havoc abroad I find.

Falling Down

(wipes tears from eyes.)

Only a mum...

Falling Down II: Getting Up Again, then Having a Good Sit Down

All we need now is a script.

WHAT??? I don't think you couldn't get a car that epitomised the country of origin anymore than a 2CV!!



a 2CV

Falling down the sequel. 'Deciding to eat hobnobs instead'. it could work.

Our anti-hero, having gone through life doing bad things, decides to stay indoors and mind his own business, only to be met with various knocks on the door that shatter his peace. Remembering that he is now a reformed character he answers the first two knocks, a dishcloth salesman and a gypsy, politely refusing their wares and offer of tarmacking the drive before returning to his sofa.

Engrossed in his 1957 copy of 'Practical Motorist' there's a third knock, he lets out a long sigh and looks through the window to see who it is. Two blokes in dark suits, one has a clipboard. The last time he saw two similar looking fella's they were from the C.I.D. wanting to know where two brand new articulated lorries had disappeared to.

Having nothing to hide he answers the door for the third time, again forced to leave the warmth of his comfy settee, as he moves the magazines slither off their pile and knock his still half full cup of tea over, wetting the corners of his precious old books. "Bastard!"

Our hero opens the door to the two busybodies, but this time his demeanour has changed, his 'quiet Sunday afternoon' has become decidedly un-quiet, and these two tw*ts were responsible.

He glares at the two pasty white-faces staring back at him, noting that they blinked in unison.

"What?" He asked. The day's supply of 'Hello's,' 'Please and thank you' having been expended on the previous visitors.

The first one speaks "Have you ever thought about the role God plays in your life?"

"Aaaaargh....Give me a Fuc*ing break!" I hear the words, and then I recognise the voice that said them - it's my own.

The wife intervenes. "Pete, go and sit down love I'll talk to these gentlemen"

I wander off back into the living room and pick up my magazines from the floor, wiping the wet corners with kitchen roll. My father in law, who had also called unannounced, sits in the chair opposite looking at me in total silence. I sit back in my comfy spot, pick up a magazine and start to read it. My father in law finally speaks;

Pete, I've known some hard-boiled people in my time but you - well you're a full twenty minutes!"

Promising! Judging from this start, I get the feeling that there will be blood...!

There's always friggin' blood mate, usually mine. I can't do a damn thing for more than a few minutes without cutting myself. I lost more blood doing up that old 2cv than I did when they cut my kidney out. I distinctly remember the surgeon saying that I hadn't even needed a transfusion, but in the garage I unleashed the death of a thousand cuts.

My next door neighbour's son has a picture framing shop, and he drops me boxes of frame offcuts to use as kindling for the fire. They use metal slivers to internally fasten the corner of those frames, and as I write my keyboard is filling up with red dots dripping from my thumb, just lighting the fire requires me to bleed, and those things are so sharp you don't even feel them.

I wonder who would play me in the film? Victor Meldrew's too old and Sean Ryders too fat.
I know - we'll have Russell Crowe, he seems to have the right level of grumpiness.

Can't think who could play you, but if Pixar buy the script they could do it as an underwater adventure (a la Nemo) with the starring role going to a black musselcracker:

Isn't he great?! Just sums up "exasperation"!