Little Rory is being prepped for the 24HoursOfLemons and I have absolutely no idea on the progress. That is not by the lack of trying on my behalf, I am thinking of entering Bozman into the Secret Squirrels Society. Each gentle nudge from me results in an smiling emoji and LOL in a way of reply. If I press on I get the following: “You asked me to build you a car, did you not? When it’s ready you will be the first one to know”. I thought I had the first class reply by pointing out that I have only provided a part payment and need to know how much more. This gets me; “When it’s completed I will give you the bill” and I am back to square one. I have dozens of emails stored in my draft file none of which I dare to send in fear of eternal purgatory from TrackSchool. I thought I was an expert when it comes to keeping my cards close to my chest, but I have nothing on Bozman. However I have a great plan, I know he likes white chocolate, if nothing else works I am going to have to bribe him.
Who would have thought that being pulled over for RBT could be so much fun? Over the weekend after catching up with friends for brunch I decided to do a rat run back home. Many reasons, the main one being that I did not want to be part of the usual Military Road parking station. Military Road must be one of the worst bottle necks in Sydney, Sunday morning and it can easily take an hour to travel 6kms. Plus the 3 sets of lights leading on to the Sydney Harbour Bridge certainly do not help. Seen so many drivers miss the middle light because you are never too sure what traffic flow they actually control. But I am digressing, so back roads through the bottom of Neutral Bay and next thing I know there is a mobile RBT, for me these are a laugh as I am not a big drinker anyway. So, I am pulled over, asked to produce my drivers licence and requested to count to ten whilst the officer holds the portable device close to my mouth, I am usually told to stop at 5, the same happens this time. Officers satisfied that I am not breaking the law and now they are ready to talk cars and boy they know their stuff. We spend 10 minutes discussing horse power of my car versus their unmarked souped up Ford, make jokes about swapping cars for a few hours and I am back on my way home.
Another incident few weeks back in Goulburn, having breakfast at the Greengrocers in Clifford Street, four officers walk in with the same idea, since I am the only other customer in the joint it does not take long for a remark about my car parked at the front and questions that follow.
I think it’s a hoot