It’s been a Week.
A Week of Radio Silence.
Seven Days without a word.
And I just couldn’t take it any more.
So I picked up the ‘phone and dialed RGA’s number; Bob answered, I shouted my introduction [Bob’s hearing isn’t so good] and which car was mine “.., the guy with the Leaky Rusty Silver 993..”. “Ah yes!” replied Bob. “It’s going well, half way there!” My relief was so great I Dropped my Hat, so I pressed him for a visitation so I could take some photos for this Blog. He obliged, and I rocked down to Vauxhall.
Before reaching the 993 through the lair of RGA, I passed so many classic Pigs I stopped at each one to take in its majesty. I won’t breach implicit confidentiality by naming the Models, but each one was there for remedial work, however extensive, including a correctly identified by me [I’m so proud] 928S that was undergoing extensive Rust Treatment; stripped down to a bare Chassis. Bob chuckled at it “That one is riddled. The owner bought it because it had a ‘Full Service History'” he scoffs. I pull a funny awkward face that kinda says “Thank goodness that’s not mine” with a hint of “I hope you’re not going to say the same about mine”.
“No, yours is fine,” Bob could see I needed the Hand on Shoulder reassurance, “there was no other work needed other than what I did. But you caught it in time.” Hat Drops again.
So I take a quick coupla snaps, drooling at the workmanship, the craftsmanship that happens in places like these which you have to think are becoming more rare yet increasingly busy for it; an irony of ageing Old School Mechanics / Artisans and attention greedy Classic Cars.
Rust Treatment work always looks best when the etch primer has been applied, the lines smoother, the edges sharper, the light catching the perfection. I smile, I know she’s in great hands down at RGA, and she’ll be back in mine early next week. Cannot. Wait.
Surfer. Biker. Coder. Yota.