I know that I more than owe you an update.
My baby is down in the garage right now about to get her first oil change. I know, she's only just got a few hundred on the clock, but I believe in giving a girl a treat after she's has a hard run.
Cambridge (Bar Hill to be exact), down the M11, round the 25 and back up the 11 to Cambridge again. 210 miles in 1h52. That'll be an average of 113mph on a road constantly monitored forroad racers.
It think it's fair to say that she's good for the speed and for avoiding attention...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Dune Buggy Disappointment
Remember the SAS buggy I believed was running around Cambridgeshire?
I was wrong. It's a replica. It's a good one, but it's not quite right.
Shame. That would have been interesting.
I was wrong. It's a replica. It's a good one, but it's not quite right.
Shame. That would have been interesting.
Bank Holiday Update
The weekend came and went - all very dull. Except for the bit where I got to take new girl Julie to a dinner in a castle in Leicestershire. That girl looks absolutely incredible in a slinky dress. She looks even better wearing nothing but suspenders. She'll make herself a hell of a lot of money at this game.
It's a good job I know better than to fall for a working girl, because I discovered there's nothing sexier than a girl who screams out her orgasms in random foreign languages. I know she's a languages graduate, but I identified French, German, Italian, Spanish and one of the Chinese or Japanese languages... Now that's an intelligent girl.
Alpha has some more modifications...
The spare wheel well now has a torus tank filled with aviation spirit, and she has a pair of nitrous oxide tanks just ahead of the main bulk head.
The number plates are now of my own design - they've plain plates with an eInk film over the top so that the plates can read whatever I want them to read. With a press of a button the plates flash black very briefly and then read whatever I want them to.
Finally, the boys have fitted her with a nifty little toy they call a docking system. If you've got car transport trailer, you can press a button and she'll line herself up, switch all power to the back wheels and then load herself onto the trailer. Once the front wheels are up on the deck it uses electric motors in the front wheels to haul itself the rest of the way up onto the trailer. Kind of like the Italian Job, but with 3tonnes of technology instead of 3kilos of Mini Cooper.
It's a good job I know better than to fall for a working girl, because I discovered there's nothing sexier than a girl who screams out her orgasms in random foreign languages. I know she's a languages graduate, but I identified French, German, Italian, Spanish and one of the Chinese or Japanese languages... Now that's an intelligent girl.
Alpha has some more modifications...
The spare wheel well now has a torus tank filled with aviation spirit, and she has a pair of nitrous oxide tanks just ahead of the main bulk head.
The number plates are now of my own design - they've plain plates with an eInk film over the top so that the plates can read whatever I want them to read. With a press of a button the plates flash black very briefly and then read whatever I want them to.
Finally, the boys have fitted her with a nifty little toy they call a docking system. If you've got car transport trailer, you can press a button and she'll line herself up, switch all power to the back wheels and then load herself onto the trailer. Once the front wheels are up on the deck it uses electric motors in the front wheels to haul itself the rest of the way up onto the trailer. Kind of like the Italian Job, but with 3tonnes of technology instead of 3kilos of Mini Cooper.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Swine flu would be apt, I suppose
Swine flu would be manly, wouldn't it? Lets say I have that then. Lets pretend that I don't feel ill after eating curry for dinner every night this week...
Remind me to tell you about Alpha's brain and number plates when I resurface.
The weekend was going to be fun, but the boys can't get Alpha ready in time for some motorway time trials.
Looks like I might be trying out Parminder's new recruit instead...
Remind me to tell you about Alpha's brain and number plates when I resurface.
The weekend was going to be fun, but the boys can't get Alpha ready in time for some motorway time trials.
Looks like I might be trying out Parminder's new recruit instead...
Monday, April 27, 2009
fancy new clothes
So then, boys and girls, what did you do this weekend? Did you have fun? The Bastard did...
Shall we talk about cars or women? Or shall we accept that we're allmen adults and talk about both...? Right then. Since I'm a gentleman, we'll talk about cars first (although I'll have to post about women first so they appear first on this thing).
Oh whatever...
The guys at the garage have really done wonders with the new Alfa.
I've had emails asking why I bought a car with no electrics. The answer is simple. Simple-ish.
She's now got new electrics installed. She's got a complete ring main system with a digital signal system so that instead of a massive rats-nest of wires, she's just got six digital lines running to the extremities and microprocessors turning it back into useful signals at the other end.
Why? Because it's more stable. And it's more resilient to the electronic and RF attacks that the police and military are getting increasingly interested in.
The other reason for it is that most cars use the bodywork as the earth line (the current runs 'out' through wires, through the bulb or relay at the other end, and then run 'back' through the bodywork). Alfa doesn't do that, because she's got this ring main. And that means that the electrical potential of the bodywork can be changed at my whim.
They've just finished spraying her in electrochromatic paint. Normally she's Lampedusa Blue, but with a twist of a knob I can give the body a positive potential. When that happens a whole load of little metal flakes in the paint spin round and she turns into a good approximation of Alfa Red. If you turn the knob half way she's turns an aubergine/egg plant colour. Dear gods it's fucking cool.
The other rather cool thing is that (if you don't mind giving the battery a kicking) the potential can be wound right up. Up to the point that anyone who puts a hand on the bodywork gets an electric fence like belt off it.
Next up they're working on the drive train...
Shall we talk about cars or women? Or shall we accept that we're all
Oh whatever...
The guys at the garage have really done wonders with the new Alfa.
I've had emails asking why I bought a car with no electrics. The answer is simple. Simple-ish.
She's now got new electrics installed. She's got a complete ring main system with a digital signal system so that instead of a massive rats-nest of wires, she's just got six digital lines running to the extremities and microprocessors turning it back into useful signals at the other end.
Why? Because it's more stable. And it's more resilient to the electronic and RF attacks that the police and military are getting increasingly interested in.
The other reason for it is that most cars use the bodywork as the earth line (the current runs 'out' through wires, through the bulb or relay at the other end, and then run 'back' through the bodywork). Alfa doesn't do that, because she's got this ring main. And that means that the electrical potential of the bodywork can be changed at my whim.
They've just finished spraying her in electrochromatic paint. Normally she's Lampedusa Blue, but with a twist of a knob I can give the body a positive potential. When that happens a whole load of little metal flakes in the paint spin round and she turns into a good approximation of Alfa Red. If you turn the knob half way she's turns an aubergine/egg plant colour. Dear gods it's fucking cool.
The other rather cool thing is that (if you don't mind giving the battery a kicking) the potential can be wound right up. Up to the point that anyone who puts a hand on the bodywork gets an electric fence like belt off it.
Next up they're working on the drive train...
Alex, Kelly and Parminder
At the weekend I finally got to see my girls... Alex, Kelly and Parminder. Don't worry, I'm not the kind of person who names their kids by throwing a dart at a baby name book. My girls are of the working type.
I broke the cheek of the last person who suggested I was a pimp. My girls... they have sex for money, but they do it through choice. My girls don't walk the streets. They don't advertise in phone boxes. They don't sleep with people I tell them to. They don't even pay me a cut...
They live in a row of three terraced houses in Cambridge. They rented them from a letting agent acting on behalf of a company in Jersey. It just so happened that I used to live in the fourth house in the terrace and used to be on hand if one of their 'boyfriends' got a little rowdy.
They're doing damned well, with my sister and her husband now living in my old place. Things have worked out for them.
Parminder is the probably the nearest I've ever got to falling in love – and it happens every damned time I see her. We spent Friday night watching Noise Ensemble at the Corn Exchange; ate the finest tandoori I've ever had; smoked a little and had one of the longest most relaxing screws I've ever had. It's not hard to see why she does so well for herself.
Still, the girls are doing well for themselves and they're trying to find a place for an incredibly sweet ex-Uni lass who they know. If she's half as good as she looks, she'll go down a storm. They just need to find somewhere for her to live...
Something tells me I'll be flying over to Jersey to visit my bank manager...
I broke the cheek of the last person who suggested I was a pimp. My girls... they have sex for money, but they do it through choice. My girls don't walk the streets. They don't advertise in phone boxes. They don't sleep with people I tell them to. They don't even pay me a cut...
They live in a row of three terraced houses in Cambridge. They rented them from a letting agent acting on behalf of a company in Jersey. It just so happened that I used to live in the fourth house in the terrace and used to be on hand if one of their 'boyfriends' got a little rowdy.
They're doing damned well, with my sister and her husband now living in my old place. Things have worked out for them.
Parminder is the probably the nearest I've ever got to falling in love – and it happens every damned time I see her. We spent Friday night watching Noise Ensemble at the Corn Exchange; ate the finest tandoori I've ever had; smoked a little and had one of the longest most relaxing screws I've ever had. It's not hard to see why she does so well for herself.
Still, the girls are doing well for themselves and they're trying to find a place for an incredibly sweet ex-Uni lass who they know. If she's half as good as she looks, she'll go down a storm. They just need to find somewhere for her to live...
Something tells me I'll be flying over to Jersey to visit my bank manager...
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The new tank...
I feel like a traitor. For many years my primary vehicle has been a Land Rover. Defenders, 110s, a Disco and even a lightweight.
For the first time ever, it looks like my primary vehicle is a normal road car.
Kind of.
What you see here is the sister to the car I bought today.
Just like mine, she's sitting low to the ground. That'll be because she's running ultra stiff springs to counteract the extra weight of 1cm thick ballistic glass and semi armoured body panels. The power is put down through a custom 4*4 system. The tyres are kevlar re-enforced runflats on low profile tyres to give enough space for the vast brakes.
Mine, however, has wider tyres to help put down the power generated from a nearly four litres of V6 engine that's been breathed on with parts raided from the Ferrari parts bin. 0-60 in 7seconds is an incredible experience.
She's also just the wrong side of illegal. We'll gloss over that because she's off having some little tweaks that I dreamed up. Tweaks that my friends in blue really won't like...
You don't want to know how much she cost. Brand new she would have been somewhere over £150,000. She's 3 years old but she's modified. You really don't to know how much she cost...
The end of the Landie
Every day inside I dreamed about this. Sitting in the garden, warm sun on my skin and a pint of strong black coffee in my hand. They say that prison changes you. They're right - I used to enjoy the night. Now I long for daylight. I'm like an addict who has suddenly realised their cravings can be satiated for free.
Anyway, I don't really have much choice about where I am right now since the police decided that they would turn my beloved Land Rover into a giant paperweight. They crushed the old girl. I have to admit that I'd love to have seen them try.
It's strange how the police lack a sense of humour. They spent years charging around Northern Ireland in armoured riot-control Land Rovers. Bullet proof glass, armoured panels, solid run flat tyres, vast V8 engines and drop down skirts to stop the undesirables shooting your ankles out when you're cowering behind your transport.
Then when I get my hands on one that was 'surplus to requirements' (the car park wasn't big enough, so someone loaded it onto a low loader) they get all arsey.
The old girl was a bitch to drive. She weighed best part of 3 1/2 tonnes and could hit 60mph in under 8 seconds. Unfortunately she wasn't so good at slowing back down or going round the bendy bits. Out in NI no-one complained when we used parked cars to 'nudge' us in the right direction. Over here you had to be a bit more careful.
God knows how their car crusher coped with that steel plate. And I wonder if they found the compressed air cylinder before it exploded...
So, I need a new car. It's not as easy to find something exciting now that we're not spending so much time in Ireland. Still, there's supposed to be a 'replica' SAS dune buggy knocking around in Essex and there are some light armour cars around if you know where to look.
Looks like it's time to brave the big bad world and see what's out there...
Anyway, I don't really have much choice about where I am right now since the police decided that they would turn my beloved Land Rover into a giant paperweight. They crushed the old girl. I have to admit that I'd love to have seen them try.
It's strange how the police lack a sense of humour. They spent years charging around Northern Ireland in armoured riot-control Land Rovers. Bullet proof glass, armoured panels, solid run flat tyres, vast V8 engines and drop down skirts to stop the undesirables shooting your ankles out when you're cowering behind your transport.
Then when I get my hands on one that was 'surplus to requirements' (the car park wasn't big enough, so someone loaded it onto a low loader) they get all arsey.
The old girl was a bitch to drive. She weighed best part of 3 1/2 tonnes and could hit 60mph in under 8 seconds. Unfortunately she wasn't so good at slowing back down or going round the bendy bits. Out in NI no-one complained when we used parked cars to 'nudge' us in the right direction. Over here you had to be a bit more careful.
God knows how their car crusher coped with that steel plate. And I wonder if they found the compressed air cylinder before it exploded...
So, I need a new car. It's not as easy to find something exciting now that we're not spending so much time in Ireland. Still, there's supposed to be a 'replica' SAS dune buggy knocking around in Essex and there are some light armour cars around if you know where to look.
Looks like it's time to brave the big bad world and see what's out there...
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Back on the net
It's been too long.
Back in the day, I used to update a journal over on LiveJournal. It was a pretty poor affair that came to an end when those very nice gentlemen with flashing blue helmets decided I needed to spend a little while as one of Her Majesty's guests.
With that little bit of unpleasantness out of the way, I'm back out here in desperate need of a decent curry and wondering what fun and games we can have before I'm back living rent free with Lizzie.
It was the Judge at the start of Porridge who said Norman Stanley Fletcher treated prison as if it were simply an occupational hazard. He was right. If you live your life in that grey area between right and wrong the you have to accept that every now and then you'll get your hand slapped.
Some of you will be surprised to know it was my first stretch. The army doesn't count.
It was my own stupid fault that I got caught. Three am and I was pulled over for an 'overly loud' exhaust pipe on the Landie. Annoyingly, I found the only alert policeman in the county, who noticed that front and back numberplates didn't match. One thing lead to another and I ended up inside for fraud and a myriad traffic offenses. I know - I'm truly hardcore.
So... how exactly shall we have a little fun today...?
Back in the day, I used to update a journal over on LiveJournal. It was a pretty poor affair that came to an end when those very nice gentlemen with flashing blue helmets decided I needed to spend a little while as one of Her Majesty's guests.
With that little bit of unpleasantness out of the way, I'm back out here in desperate need of a decent curry and wondering what fun and games we can have before I'm back living rent free with Lizzie.
It was the Judge at the start of Porridge who said Norman Stanley Fletcher treated prison as if it were simply an occupational hazard. He was right. If you live your life in that grey area between right and wrong the you have to accept that every now and then you'll get your hand slapped.
Some of you will be surprised to know it was my first stretch. The army doesn't count.
It was my own stupid fault that I got caught. Three am and I was pulled over for an 'overly loud' exhaust pipe on the Landie. Annoyingly, I found the only alert policeman in the county, who noticed that front and back numberplates didn't match. One thing lead to another and I ended up inside for fraud and a myriad traffic offenses. I know - I'm truly hardcore.
So... how exactly shall we have a little fun today...?
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