The Buick starter motor setup has continued to niggle.

The shaft and flexible joints idea, although potentially a solution, has always flagged up doubts. The other night I pressed out two new rubber discs and was thinking I'd commit myself to the idea's completion - if for no other reason than to get the job out of the way - when I decided to revisit the less mechanically complicated resolution of driving the friction wheel directly with the starter.

This is a mock-up of the fixing that wraps around the rear of the starter's body and completes its support on the original chassis bracket. The actuation mechanism remains the same, and all I have to do is think of a way to secure the friction wheel to the shaft of the motor.

The tuck press - or whatever you want to call it - is now complete save for the actual dies. I'm toying with the idea of an oak block that sits in the channel with a rebate to accept different metal shapes. This will make the machine more versatile; it would certainly be able to serve as a louver press.

I've annotated the drawing as accurately as I can, though I can't guarantee that my tape measure was telling the truth. The basic dimensions for each of the members is at top left; the drawings are annotated with the hole centres.

Whilst I was having fun building the press machine, I was considering what might be the best course of action with the Velocette. I want to first find out a little bit more about its history because it turns out to have a MkIII engine mated to a MkII gearbox. The MkIII dispensed with the hand start and gear levers and adopted the more conventional kick-start and foot change gearbox. The chassis number denotes a MkII, but at the very end of the series production. It might be that the factory had run out of MkII engines and substituted the MkIII to fulfil orders. I've dropped a line to the club historian, who might be able to shed some light on the conundrum.

Early last Sunday morning was perfect for flying vintage aircraft, which was just as well as young Harry had invited me to have a trip around the houses in the old L4.

Looking at my logbook, 32 years had passed since I had last flown this particular aircraft, and it felt like putting on an old glove. In my sixty hours of flying from its Norfolk farm strip base, I'd never sat and flown it from the front seat, but that did nothing to dispel a feeling of coming home. To float over East Anglia with the doors open on a sunny day with no wind and sixty miles visibility, is a rare privilege.

And if you get lost, here's a handy heuristic method to get you home, but not in the Southern Hemisphere - that's a different problem.