The First Year
I'm now living in Harlow in Essex, of only for the summer and father graciously fetches the newly MOT'd PetroVich down to me on the trailer. Whilst it "could" have come down on it's own it's sadly cheaper to tow it behind the discovery.

Me looks happy and drives round for a while, if only to Tescos and so on.

Me looks less happy when it decides that it doesn't want to run any more after pulling out of Tescos car park (it went, brmmmm__stop) after playing for a while me twigs "tis the coil, tis buggered" So me sets out to find a place in Harlow that sells a coil for a series 2 (I know... EVERYWHERE sells coils, but I didn't then, OK?) Follows is a transcript of the average telephone call that I made in order to find said device... (This is nearly word for word and fairly typical of the responses I got)

"Hello, I believe you sell spare parts for Land Rovers?"
"Yes, we do"
"OK, I need a coil for a 1972 Series 2a Petrol"
"A what?"
"A 1972 Series 2a?"
"Is that a Range Rover"?
"No, it isn't"
"A Discovery?"
"No"
"A Freelander?"
"No"
"It's not one of those other ones is it, what are they called?"
"Defender?"
"Yes, that's it"
"No, it's not one of those either it's for a 1972 Series 2a, it's probably the same as the one listed for a series three"
"1972? Land Rover weren't around in 1972, they were started in the 80's to sell the Range Rover"
"I'll take it as a no then"

At this point I hung up. Now I could have spent time arguing that the Range Rover was around in 1972, but to be honest I was getting tired of the conversation, 50% of which was being carried out in the Essex accent, which is as close to Ultrasound as I can imagine the human vocal chord can get. Seriously, people from Essex don't look where they are going, they detect it using echo location. It's the only reason for that pitch I can think of.

After half a dozen "a what?" responses I decided to ring Craddocks... it arrived the next day.

Me fits it.

Billing.
By now it's Billing time again and I venture up for a long weekend (leave work early on Friday etc.) and am met at the house I'm staying at by Father once more, who was working about 30 miles away from Harlow and decides to show me the way (or at least that is what he told me, the fact mother is with him makes me think he drove from Billing especially, but he's nice like that) and off we go.

The journey to billing is.... interesting... this is the first "long" run I've done in Petro and the complete lack of carpeting makes me regret having not considered sound proofing. Anyway I arrive and spend the next two hours attempting to regain the ability to hear. Added to the shopping list is a set of carpets.

Now I'm parked with the Elson mob down at Billing, and for various reasons George (an American friend) has gone "Dumpster Diving" and managed to find a length of Red Carpet from somewhere or other, which is now being used to guide the "Land Rover Royalty" in the direction of the mobile towers Elson.

Thus before we set off back, PetroVich is decorated inside with a luscious Red Carpet, which makes the return journey much more fun. Until the Speedo cable snaps....

He's an Essex Lass ?
Well, back in Essex I think for a whee while and decide what to do about this, Once again I'm left with the "a what?" conversations, and decide that I might as well just ring up Craddocks and forget the local dealers before I even start.

I get it and fit it, and instantly snap it again... "bum thinks I", and investigates the problem. I discover that somehow or other I have managed to seize the Speedo... Dad comes to the rescue and brings a spare down... tis fitted, and end of problem.

Whilst Petro is "off" the road I also decide to do something about the exhaust system, which is (according to a friend who is usually sat in the passenger seat) "leaking"; which given that both he and I are used to what passes for public transport in Manchester, is pretty serious if he can actually smell it

Well, all things considered this isn't that difficult... Running the engine with the bonnet open there is a vague hint of smoke coming out of the top of the exhaust, James spots it first... "Why's there blue smoke coming out of that rusty looking bit with the doofer sticking out of the top?" says he, and after pointing my attention to which "rusty looking bit with the doofer on the top" he was refering too; we come to the conclusion that the gasket twixt the manifold and the engine is probably broken, or something.

Well, this happened before I ordered the bits from Craddocks so we decide to fix it ourselves, on the street in what is (to us) remarkable sunshine. I say "remarkable" sunshine, as the full stupidity of the scene really needs to be stated. The sun is out, the sky is blue and James and I have decided that Shorts and T-Shirts are the order of the day.

Out Geographically Challenged companions down in "Da Sarf" are evidently used to higher temperatures, and whilst James is recieving a rather messy introduction to all things Land-Rover we are also being stared at by people in fleeces and winter coats looking at the pair of northern loonies buried under the bonnet of a "tractor" I'm not sure whether it was the shorts, the funny accents or the vehicle that was causing the confusion, but it did get us an audience :)

Harlow was fun, in the Land-Rover, and I recommend it heartily to everyone with a series motor. As Doofie (that is Dooferlad, James, Jimmybob or a whole host of other names) will testify, we saw one other Land-Rover (not counting Freelanders, Rangies, Discoveries or other pocy things) in three months, and even that was a Defender. So a good proportion of people you terrorise Meet, are unnacustomed to seeing big blue things covered in a mixture of mud and dents. They also don't know what to do about it.

All this means that I nearly got to total a Rolls-Royce, who had a slightly better opinion of my stopping abilities than I did, so that was nice.