it’s the last meeting of the year and it’s a dry fine night on friday.
The journey up to the pod across the country is long and gloomy. I feel empty and stressed. It’s been busy getting everything ready for the show at centrespacegallery and there’s too much else going on…
i meet up with paul botch venners on the way, he’s in his bay window panel van (which looks lovely) shock horror! he spent hours t-cutting all the old paint and it’s shiny! (even he’s amazed by this strange activity..)
the rest of the journey up there is fine, folling at a respectful distance behind the panel van and watching the oil from pauls engine slowly distributing itself across the windscreen of the wedge bus in tiny little splatters – praying that i won’t have to use the windscreen wipers.

arriving at the pod it feels really good (and odd) to be back again – i’ve missed (and missed) the last few race meets since i sold the samba and i’ve been trying to review how i feel about it all. i remember leaving bugjam (on a low loader having kippered the gearbox) and thinking
‘i never have to come back here again’

i get parked up near team botch and ring ollie (who is racing his baywindow, i’m crewing for him…) to let him know where we’re pitting and then off for a wander about. my mood lifts and suddenly i remember all the friends i’ve met.
the greeting is warm and friendly and unconditional. we’re all friends for the weekend, all with something in common and this odd abstract (airfield shaped) space to share it in…

and then it’s 4am and botch is still bending my ear and i have to be up early to do my pitcrew duties – maily making ollie tea and biscuits at regular intervals and making sure he doesn’t start twiddling with the big bits in the engine bay…