Red tape.

I’m going to hijack my own blog to bring live coverage of this years folly to Libya. There are a few dust filled internet cafes in Libya and if I can get to them it should work. The trip involves my Land Rover, so there is a vague Jeep link.



On Monday, I went to ‘dat’ London. I had to go, to present myself, in person, at The Libyan Embassy, the only shabby building in Knightsbridge, to apply for a visa. This is a change to previous years when it was all done by remote control. In a tit for tat retaliation against our own immigration, who make it very difficult for any Libyan to enter Britain, the Libyan’s have made it pretty tricky for us. 12 of our team of Geographers and Archaeologists pitched up at 9.30 to start the process. Each application had to be accompanied by air, or ferry tickets, a bank statement, and an invitation from Libya. Then our application would be considered. In-Sh-Allah we may get the passports back in about ten days. My ticket proved I was sailing from Marseilles to Tunis on 30th December, but this was accepted in a marvellous piece of North African logic. We then were led, one by one, into a back room to have our fingerprints scanned to add ‘biometric details’ to our passports. Whilst there we picked up the passports of those members of the group who had been through the same procedure two weeks ago. No sign of any ‘biometric details’ in their passports. The whole lot will be filled away on a CD somewhere and left on a London Bus.

Homeward bound.

And so, the day arrived when I drove the Jeep home from Matlock to Leicester. Saturday 6th December. We had been camping up in Edale for the weekend and swung by Matlock on the way back to pick the Jeep up. By 6.00 pm it was a little chilly so I opted to wear ALL my clothes. This would be the biggest journey the Jeep had done in 5, 10, 20, 30 years. Anybody’s guess. Jo was able to drive the Land Rover and act as back up. A tall order as she had not driven it in over a year, but she managed. I chose the M1 route, out of simplicity. We set off at a cracking pace with Matt following for a short distance. Within a couple of miles he sped by, stopped me, and said the rear lights weren’t on. My fault. Funny military switch. Once on the Motorway we settled into a steady 50 mph cruising speed and yes, I was a bit chilly, but I thought of all the young soldiers who had frozen driving identical Jeeps in the War. I had nothing to complain about and the risk of being shot at was minimal. Though I was shot at on the M69 once! The Jeep ran very well, its new engine feeling powerful and no alarming noises. It was great fun! We made it back in good time. Tucked it up in the garage, where it will probably remain until the Spring.

DVLA Dealings.

The process of registering the Jeep has now taken two months. Firstly I had to join the Military Vehicle Trust (£30), then they sent a chap to verify the age of the Jeep, which I know to be 1943. (His travel expenses £45). Then I had to swap my old Land Rover insurance cover over to the Jeep. (£20). Finally, today, armed with; The Californian log book, the importation document, the M.O.T., the insurance cover note, the MVT Age verification, two forms of identification and the Vehicle Licence Application Form V55/5, I drove to the nearest DVLA office, Nottingham! I was expecting a wait of about half an hour following a tip off from my mate, ‘Wet Paint’ Tony, so took a flask of coffee and the Daily Telegraph. I took a seat in a waiting room with about 5 other people and was called to the desk within about 3 minutes. Things were looking good. I was seen by Phil, a man of a certain age, who looked like he still lived with his Mum and had an unhealthy interest in train sets. Within ten minutes I was back in the car heading for Leicester. Job done. Within 72 hours I should have an allocated registration number and a zero rated tax disk. What could possibly go wrong?

Fully recovered.

It all started off as a pretty normal Monday. Work not quite kicked in for the week and the gentle fall of drizzle outside. I try to fill quiet days with Landy activity and am starting the lengthy process of preparing my Carawagon for a trip to Libya in Jan ‘09. Rather than leave things to the last minute I try and get the truck well sorted at least a month beforehand. There has been a slight rumble in the back axle for years and it has been fine for the last few Sahara trips, but I found a ‘new, old stock’ one on the internet at a main dealers in Chester. We did a deal over the phone and I set off. I noticed the old girl seemed a bit lacking in power, but would plod along at 50 and got me there okay. On the return journey though it got progressively worse. A call to Landy supremo - eldest son Matt, suggested a failing fuel pump. In rush hour traffic on the A51 I was becoming a liability so, 20 miles south of Chester I pulled into the car park of The Old Barbridge Inn and called Matt for assistance. Poor chap was already running around taking the boys to football/rugby practise, but he was up for it later. Not a problem. I went in the pub and had two lovely pints and a 10 oz Ribeye steak with all the trimmings, then fell asleep in the back of the truck until he arrived at 10.15. It was actually quite easy getting the Land Rover back to his place in Matlock. Up over the Peak District, black roads, no traffic and no sign of any coppers. I seem to have ended up with his Land Cruiser and the relieve that the breakdown was here and not there.

Torque to me.

A billion lbs. feet of torque here, generated by this is one, of four, steam engines that pumped Leicester’s sewage from the city up to Beaumont Leys from about 1860 until it was no longer big enough to serve the city in 1964. This week I was privileged to get the full lantern lit tour, even right down into the basement, surprisingly free of odour. There is something irresistible about the slow, rhythmic, almost sexual, movement and hissing of these great engines that has a lasting schoolboy appeal. It looks so powerful that if one were to shove a tree trunk in the gears and stop it, the World would probably spin off its axis.

Three sheets to the wind.

Popped over to my Dad’s this week. He had cooked an excellent curry and Annie, his wife and I saw off a bottle of Dolcetta picked up recently in Comboland. As it was a lovely evening I took the 1948 Land Rover minus roof. Always a thrill to drive. It’s so dangerous, lacking seat belts and with doors that fly open round bends. Leaving their house in Pitsford at around midnight I felt it might be prudent to take the back roads home, via the lovely villages of Tur Langton, Carlton Curlieu and Burton Overy. There is no thrill quite like driving a sixty year old Land Rover on a moonless night down narrow country lanes. Pathetic lights, appalling handling, freezing cold and wishing I had worn more layers. I took the picture on my phone, having left the Canon at home, but it represents about the right view. The gloom pierced by a mixture of original ‘Butler’ headlights, as fitted to tractors of the day and a Lucas spotlight from the fifties. Motoring does not get better than this.

Let’s Off Road!

An opportunity to write a report on Bures Pit Off Road site for 4x4 Magazine heralded a baptism of fire for the Jeep this month. As it’s still not registered so I trailered it down to near Colchester behind the Land Rover. I borrowed Matt’s ex Gas Board Box Trailer, into which the Jeep just about fits. Heaving the trailer around in his workshop nearly brought on the long overdue heart attack. The toll of a the previous week spent in Comboland nearly proved fatal as the pulse quickened and the beads of cold sweat gathered on my brow. A half hour sit down in a darkened room sorted me out and the following day at the site was a great pleasure. The brakes packed up after a few applications, but who needs them anyway. So. The Jeep now has 12 miles on the clock. 4 from its visit to the MOT station and 8 done in the Pit. Great fun.