4 Browsing through the classified pages of COMMelVial Motor this summer,
Page 22
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I spotted an ad for "'New Scainmell Cabs" and thought that it would make a jolly good playhouse for the girls (Yeah, yeah-ED).
The prospect of
successfully negotiating with my wife Tricia to get this into the garden looked sufficiently bleak that !decided it would be easier to get forgiveness than permission.
The project went ahead without the official sign-off of the joint md and financial controller of Norwell plc.
When I collected it from the supplier in Chorley, I discovered that "new" meant never installed on a chassis and that my cab had been enjoying the moisture-laden winds of the Lancashire climate for the previous four years at least. It was in a predictable shade of algae green. A modest sum of money changed hands. My moment of greatest doubt during the whole scheme came at the point when the cab was fork-lifted into the back of my 1820. Driving back down the M6, I realised I was committed.
D-Day was 10 July. Tricia and I left home as usual for work and took the girls to childminder and nursery I slipped straight home and dug out an 8x5ft patch of turf in a corner of the garden and laid a suitable sand and gravel base. The previous Saturday I had shifted the cab out of the 1820 at Milton Keynes and into a dropside 13-tonne lorry loader.
Off to work to collect the cab and home to install took me to lunchtime when a couple of neighbours dropped by to help out. With it craned across the hedge and resting on the lawn at 3pm, I felt it was all going to come together by the 5.15pm deadline when Tricia was due home.
It was heavier than it looked. The leaden sound of the doors closing hinted at its true weight. Four men spent half an hour moving it 20 feet to the prepared site. The cleanup started. Ratchet, straps, timber, cardboard and ropes were all stashed. Then I took the truck back to work and retrieved the car.
Back home at 4.30pm. Out with the hosepipe and bucket to remove the green and reveal the marginally better battleship grey. At least it was clean.
At 5.10pm, filthy lcnackered and slumped on the garden bench, I was drinlsing a beer when Tricia and the girls got home. Lucy and Kitty were noisy. Tricia was quiet. Her first words were short and unambiguous. A low point came when she realised I'd paid money for it. The acid test was, would the girls like it? If they did,! stood a chance. If they didn't! was catfood.
Happily it was a hit. Now fully finished, the cab has been fitted with seats, carpets, curtains, a fluffy dice and a horn.'
Kitty (nearly four), 50% shareholder and joint Ind of Lucy & Kitty Trucking Co; 0-licence pending.
by the Hawk