nuts and bolts

Over the course of the last 12 months I have watched with intrigue. Every evening he arrives. A man, usually dressed in jeans and coloured t-shirt, pulls up in a white van on the small patch of tarmac across the grass from me. He parks neatly in front of the pastel coloured garages and opens up the 4th from right door slowly, like a child on a cautious adventure. He disappears inside and then come the great sound of the engine starting.

The man, (who I only know as Powell due to it being written on his white van in perfect black letters) owns a kit car. Its identical to the one my dad had when i was a awkward teenager living in Reading. Long silver nose, small rectangular windscreen with tiny wipers constantly caught in the upright position, two perpendicular squares of spongy leather forming two seats aside a small gearstick topped with a silver shifter, black solid roll bar behind the seats and a beautiful racing green body all around saving you from falling the 3 inches that you were held above the ground. No doors: they just take the fun out of it. Its so familiar, I know how hot the brushed silver dashboard feels when its been out in the sun, I know that awkward position you have to get in to just to get inside, but most of all i remember the total rush of excitement at sitting on that small square of leather when the engine was running, knowing how much fun the next little ride was going to be.

I'm not sure what model Powell's car is, could be a Caterham, could be a Locust, but I just know its fun. It doesn't have a roof, actually to be more precise it does, but you look like an idiot driving with it on; its essentially a leather rain mac stretched across your head. He does sometimes have the doors on his and i think my dad did quite a lot of the time too. What i remember most about the Locust (yes i do mean locust not Lotus) is that i learned so much about how cars work just from watching and helping my dad with his. Its a shame cars have become so modern as the things i learned about the engine in that car are beginning to become obsolete, but i guess this is what Powell loves his car too.

As I say, he arrives every night in his van and takes the car for a drive, but being on holiday at the moment I have discovered that he also works on it almost every day too. Today the car is up on jacks and he is repairing the rear suspension. Next to him is a gloriously grubby white box filled with tools and bolts and nuts and wire and parts that only he understands, but it makes the scene. Green bodywork, yellow jacks, grey wheels and grubby white box. He works so meticulously. Never worrying about the time it is taking. Today he has had a small audience of local children watching him, but far from being distracted or disrupted by them, he has politely answered questions and nonchalantly kicked back their football as it hits him for the 10th time.

Is this what happens when you find something you completely enjoy? I suppose it it similar to the simple peace and happiness i get from changing the wheels and bearings on my skates. Each piece is familiar, the tools work perfectly and you can see the process from start to finish before you even start.

Powell and his car make me happy.