Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Wednesday 17/06/09

Overheard in the caravan:

Hay: “You missed your vocation; you’d make a good journalist because you like to argue.”
Chairman: “No I don’t!”

Bought a replacement car yesterday – another Volvo 850, but with an LPG fuel conversion. Fuel consumption is phenomenal, but the performance is on a par with a wet sponge on benzodiazepine and smoking a joint. It’s even more sluggish than my younger daughter at a weekend.


I’m sure having 40 odd litres of liquid petroleum gas in the back of the car ain’t going to do much for your health if you get a shunt up the backside from a MAN TGA 26440 truck traveling at 60 mph. If you don’t erupt in a fireball you’ll end up frozen as the gas vaporizes, or at the very least gassed. A small price to pay though for a more efficient burn (and hence cleaner engine) and lower running costs.


A bit restrictive on space utilization though, although I might convert it to a doughnut-shaped tank to fit in the spare wheel well. Seems daft to have a Volvo for its versatility, only to totally negate it with a whacking great tank in the cargo space.

On the negative side, I’ve discovered that LPG filling stations are few and far between, with none in a 10 mile radius of home. The one I was aware of en route to work has stopped selling it, and I guess many are getting out of it faster than the rate at which my bank account has been emptying this week. I found one filling station in Hayle, Cornwall, which sells it at over £1 per litre when the standard price is under 50p.

Bought it in Craven Arms, Shropshire, which meant going through some quaintly named villages, such as Pipe-and-Lyde, Moreton-on-Lug, Hope-Under-Dinmore, etc. The whole area between Hereford and Leominster is awash with quaint double and triple-barreled village names that belong either in an early 20th century detective novel or a comedy script


One thing I noticed was that all roadside burger vans sport massive Union flags. Visitors to our shores must be left with the impression that the British flag is the international symbol for poor quality and intensely fatty roadside fried food.

Went past the Ludlow Food Centre, which looks rather like a larger version of what we’re about to build (go down the page on the link to see it). It reminded me that we need to go to this year’s Ludlow Food Festival.

Had a ram, a couple of ewes and a bunch of lambs delivered to the field this week. Just as well we moved the caravan last weekend and erected a decent fence. Here are a couple of the lambs.


Here's an interesting hobby that will make you the life and soul of any dinner party.



3 comments:

  1. Wonderful selection of Old English names, you gave us today - was waiting for a story as to how they each came into being...

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  2. Jinksy: You mean like Black Pockrington?

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  3. My husband is threatening to replace our children with sheep next year when they are both going full time to kindergarten (because, he says, I won't have anything to do...let's not go there). I'll be watching your sheep stories with interest...

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