Model T auction

Every year, just in time for my birthday (damn, older again...), the Model T Ford Register of Great Britian descend on Buckinghamshire for their annual autojumble and auction.

Real passionate, the T club - it's populated by a grand bunch of sociable souls who actually use their cars. Trips to Sweden, Spain, Scotland and no doubt some other places beginning with 'S' in the past year. My T motoring has been far less adventurous (and less costly!) but I still enjoy the yearly trek to Neil Tuckett's farm for a natter with old friends, and the chance to pick up some bargains...

So. Arose early on Sunday, bundled the kids into the daily, picked up an old time friend who I always take to stop me buying things I shouldn't, and set off. We left the little ones with Kate's parents - they miss her too, and, well - it kinda helps to do the stuff we always used to do. Kate and the kids visiting grandparents whilst I have a few hours escapism with cash in my pocket.

I love an auction. Superb auctioneer - fast too. Turn for a chat and miss three lots. Damn! The pickings were slimmer this year but it didn't matter as I wasn't after anything in particular. Just the buzz of bidding. Always had it since I bid for bicycles at farm auctions as a kid. Letting the tyres down when nobody was looking because who'd buy a bike with a puncture? Except a young boy with a pump in his coat pocket?

Missed a superb 1927 sump for £20 but I doubt it's the last one on the planet. The score for the day was a pair of 1927 wings, splash aprons and running boards. Battle scarred, cracked and tired, but no real rot. I've always been too ambitious in the past; hoping to cure flaky, thin, brown, mishapen objects - to replace the holes held together by air with the steel that Henry intended.

Still - hope helps. It gets us there.