The Norfolk Butcher was in striking distance from where Counsel and I were working on getting the five cars going. This was excellent news as Chumley was looking a bit anaemic of late and had helped me out with some scrap bits of aluminium. Two pork chops, six slices of black treacle-cured bacon, a bit of rump for 'is nibs and six of their finest sausages. In the car, I looked again at the bill - it seemed a bit under to me, so I went back in the shop only to be assured that everything was as it should be.

Later, looking forward to a few prize bangers with leek and potato mash laced with horseradish, I realised what had gone wrong. Chipolatas.

After refitting the 1919 Humber timing chest with the repaired waterway, I thought it prudent to leave everything for a week to properly set. With some trepidation, the radiator was filled - until the ominous trickle from the repair appeared. No problem, just bung a bit more oggin in the gap and all will be fine. No. Start again.

During the week, I had a bundle of stainless-steel tubes to cut to length and add brackets and so forth. I'd never enjoyed cutting tube with a cutting disc because the ends never seem to meet in the same place - until I hit on this idea. I happened to have a piece of mild steel tube of the exact internal diameter to fit over the SS tube. There was my guide - piece of cake. No fuss, very little mess and bang on the money every time.

The Hillman is in disgrace at the moment. She started to do her fade-to-close routine which she does when feeling neglected. It's not an electrical issue because she always starts on the button; it's fuel and I have to admit that all last year she sat with a full tank going nowhere. A monthly run up was as good as it got. I'll change the fuel filter when I have a minute as a cursory glance revealed some biomass lurking in the plastic capsule.

Despite our misgivings and the fact we left the Lotus till last as it looked the most forlorn, once we'd emptied the tanks and topped up with fresh fuel, the twin-cam sprang into life without us doing much of anything. Counsel had the forethought to bring along a Discovery battery with plenty of zing in it so starting, once we'd established there were sparks, was a breeze.

The Rolls was the easiest to get into but only then when you remembered to enter through the nearside door (it's a Sedanca De Ville body so passengers are not generally seen in the front seat). The chauffeur's side abounds with trouser traps and foot-twisting, cramp-inducing obstacles to negotiate.

And rooting about in the sheds, I came across a 1958 edition of the Eastern Daily Press with this advertisement for Volkswagen Transporters. Our butcher in Köln had one of these - never delivered the wrong sausages as I recall.