A car boot model car. I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not an ardent car booter. That isn’t to say of course that I never go to them. On the contrary. Many’s the time I’m dragged screaming and kicking to such events by ‘er indoors on a bright Sunday morning when I’d rather be working on my latest kit project. You’ve possibly even seen me, or others like me at such events that are surely only created by the fellow who wears a red suit, sports big horns, wields a trident and sits on an uncomfortable burning sofa composed of sulphur and brimstone to torture the unwary. Mind you, maybe I’m being unfair. It’s altogether possible the sofa isn’t that uncomfortable.
However, we’re the ones who mope slowly round behind the ladies, (not too far away mind, and don’t wander off to look at anything as paltry as something you may actually be interested in…) and we are always the ones laden with second hand carrier bags filled with other peoples cast-offs, just waiting for us to repair and fit in place in a new location in the shed, awaiting the next visit by the bin man. I’m sure if someone invented an ‘E-bay’ type website where you could flog car boot rubbish, (merchandise is often too kind a word) in car boot fashion, they would be multi millionaires within a week due to a membership of 99% women. Yes, E-Bay comes close at times, but that isn’t what I meant. Even if car boots were online, I’m sure that the good ladies would devise a way for the shackled husbands to stand beside them at the computer, not too far out of reach and never quite getting a good look at the bits they want to see, just so that the poor sods could carry the virtual plastic cyber-bags around with them.
I digress, however. There was actually an occasion a matter of only a few months ago where I was carted to one such event. After an hour or so of staggering round laden with tatty polythene receptacles sporting such titles as ‘Tesco’s’ and ‘Asda’, but actually containing items that these stores would be sued in the high courts for ever daring to retail, I noticed something on one stall of definite interest… An unbuilt white metal car kit. Even better, a little Jowett – one of my all-time classic favourites!
The odd thing was, the stallholder was actually a merchant of Turkish shoes, (?) so why he was selling an old white metal kit was anyone’s guess. He was even Turkish. Of course, these days half the population who escape from high school or even university, often babble so incoherently they sound as if they were from Turkey, or any country other than Shakespeare’s own, so maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps he was from Scunthorpe or a few miles north of Potters Bar. And while we’re about it, why is it that all car boot salesmen have an accent that would even raise the eyebrows of anyone from west of Romford, and are equally capable of drowning out a 747 on lift off, and are usually tattooed in every visible place, having the epithet ‘mother’ on the end of their tongue. And can’t they be more imaginative than paste tables? And why do they all have grubby yellow bed sheets spread on the ground, half buried in faded copies of ‘Friends’ video’s?
I’m rambling again… The model car. There it sat amongst the dubious leather shoes which were actually all the same shape, (No left or right foot in Turkey. One wonders if Turks have two big toes on each foot, one per side, and three long skinny toes in the middle…) a faded yellowing card-wrapped plastic bag proclaiming the model was by 'SMTS’. There was also a strange model of a British post box nearby, but this was a bit too big for this particular scale, even allowing for those modellers who don’t count rivets beyond the digits of one hand, or even a Turkish foot. I was interested in the model of the Jowett. Four pounds was the asking price, so two pounds later I was the owner of a nice little model. OK…. These models can be a little old-school compared to the current offerings, but don’t knock them. With a little bit of care, a nice model will result.
Building the little model was simplicity itself. However… I found to my cost, that cyanoacrilate isn’t a good idea here, unless you really want to spend the rest of your life waving a little model car about on the end of your digits every time you try to give someone directions when they ask the way to B & Q. Mind you, the little car in the header picture was the result. So. The next time you are dragged along to a car boot sale, look out for a Turkish shoe salesman with two left feet, or bearing a severe limp from ill-fitting shoes, yelling very loudly ‘Git yer luverly bernarners’, from somewhere possibly east of Cricklewood. He may just be selling model cars as well.