Jimmy gets a touch up

It was time for Jimmy to go and get a rub-down. Ever since the rigors of last year's big road trip, his hull has been crying out for a bit of revival. All slightly new territory for me, I danced around the subject until eventually I felt ready - and in I plunged. Into the world of the bodyshop and its flying sparks and grey watery puddles. Yeahman Body Repairs is just round the corner from me off Coldharbour Lane and right next door to Big Jim's mechanics. They both needed to do stuff to Jimmy to complete the look and feel and making everything crystal clear for them was a hell of a challenge, thankfully lubricated by spare chocolate cakes and lots of bad jokes.

One day during this process I discovered that Jimmy had burst into flames during a routine welding procedure - 'You'da shit yerself if you'd bin in 'ere gel' cackled Big Jim with delight as I surveyed the Mad Max-esque damage to the bonnett (and agreeing with him in no small part). Shards of darkness thrust out from within and I just prayed the rest of the work would pass by without any more trauma.

Apart from the indicator cables getting burnt through and a potential bust up between Yeahman and Big Jim (diffused, once more, with choc), the rest of it went fine and I was able to drive the mid-op Jimmy off to New Cross Gate to Insa's studio for the final cosmetic touches....just in time for the May Bank Holiday Slow Food market.

Londonist

Hi from a slightly mangle-minded person. I'm surrounded by lists and piles of stuff and a groaning amount of e-mails to send. Plus the TV license people are hot on my case. I'm not trying to avoid getting one, it's just that that particular sheet of paper has been relegated to a fairly low position in the heap and has barely seen the light of 2008.

Jimmy's been checked over by Big Jim at City Autos. I'm all excited because he's promised to take me to one of the gypsey shows he goes to - proper horse racing and selling and trading on the side of the track...I took him some brownies today so that should have sealed the deal.

The Londonist has written a piece on Choc Star - have a look (although it's a bit strange when you see how you've been quoted and wonder, 'God, is that the kind of stuff that comes out of my mouth?!'. Anyway, it was written by the doyenne of London food devotees, Krista who shall be given Super VIP treatment chez Jimmy next time we cross paths.

Off on Friday and still not sure where the heck I'll be suppering. Somewhere between Brixton and Whitstable....

Spooky!

I went home to Suffolk for Easter - a house full of my family and friends all holed up together with too much of everything but not quite enough sun.

I first had to do a job in Mayfair for the set of Spooks. I left the house on Easter morning with great fist size snowflakes crowning me and hot-footed it over to Berkeley Square. I love doing TV jobs because there's always loads of teckies on hand with well coiled cables and loads of extra power, all ready and rearing to go. Power - the bain of my choc-mobiling life...things could get pretty hairy on the big tour if Gennie from the Box doesn't cooperate.



The weather was grim - in a way it's better like this because it makes for even more of a treat when the twinkling lights and pink neon of Choc Star comes calling. I made some large fluffy Malteser muffins, chocolate and rum flourless squares and little bags of walnut fudge brownie bites. To drink it had to be the 'Floating Islands' hot chocolates - melted dark chocolate with steamed milk, cream and soft marshmallows bobbing around on top.

Very quickly it was all over and I was cruising through town to the M11. All went well. Jimmy charged down the motorway like a van with a mission. I smiled contentedly and sang along to an old reggae tape, thrilled to be out on the road and not even caring about the snow/sleat/hale/rain. No, things couldn't have been better as I came off a slip road and headed for the A143 to Diss...alarmingly though, as I attempted to change gears, I seemed to have lost the entire clutch pedal. Vanished! Stopping - right in the middle of the road - it appeared that the clutch cable had snapped and the pedal was all loose and completely unusable.


And my phone was about to run out of juice. And I was desperate for the loo. I rang the AA who told me they'd be very quick on account of my being alone and in the middle of the road. I waited for a bit then darted over to the bushes on the roundabout and returned feeling much better. I declined calls from my family wanting an update so as to save the juice. I poured myself cup after cup of hot chocolate and threw marshmallows idly into my mouth. I even got approached by a carload of girls who screeched to a halt and ran over raving about seeing me on telly. Two hours later matey rocks up and fixes the thing in minutes. The delay wasn't his fault so I furnished him with what was left of the hot chocolate (he couldn't believe his luck) and finally I continued on my way.


The rest of the weekend was heaven. Endless glasses of wine, walks in the snow and great greedy meals - only disturbed by the AA calling me to keep apologising for taking so frickin' long. I don't understand that. If they were really that sorry they would have offered me some kind of tangible consolation and I would have loved them forever.

And now here I am back in London with a mountain of to-do lists for the tour - only two weeks to go: AAAArghhhhhhhhh! I had a lovely chat with Dave from Book the Cook today - he says that the North East will be waiting for me with open arms. I have to say that that part of the country is showing me extra amounts of love and I can't wait to get up to the wilds of Northumbria.

Less forthcoming are Lancashire and Yorkshire. Now I really want to go to Blackpool and Wigan and Bradford...but have had no joy so far. If it comes to it I'm just going to pitch up there, park the van, head for the nearest pub and just wing it. Surely there'll be someone in any pub in the land who I can persuade to give me supper?!

Gennie from the box

First it was Gennie from the Cage. But the little super-silent power behind the creation of endless milkshakes, hot chocolates and fairy light configurations seemed all wrong for the old contraption. That had been built to keep the Big 6.5kva Beast (inherited from Eddie) at bay. The new generator, I finally decided, needed something a little more elegant to house…’her’. A market trader buddy of mine recommended Steve down in Shooters Hill…and therein started off the most classic case of ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’.

I wanted a stainless steel number, with a roller mechanism whereby you could take the entire shelf off, with the generator on it, thus losing unwanted space for festival pitches, etc (and also so as to be able to open the rear doors and retrieve all manner of treasures lost down the back during enthusiastic milkshake sessions). ‘Yep, no problem’ said Steve and then proceeded to take the most unimaginable length of time to produce the thing.

When it finally arrived (after one aborted attempt at delivery involving a crucial section not having been welded properly…and near destruction of the long-anticipated masterpiece) it was the most beautifully constructed little box you ever saw. Bits flipped up here and hinged over there, holes were strategically placed, air vents in place and the whole thing shimmered and seemed right at home bolted onto Jimmy’s rear bumper.

And then I used it. We had a job to do for a store in town. The staff had all been working super hard and needed treats. I baked Black & White cupcakes, Millionaire’s shortbread and some chocolate chip cookies, loaded in the ice cream, fired up the gennie and off we went. Further into our journey, as the record-breaking April heat beat down on us, so, unfortunately, was it beating down on the steel cage. There wasn’t exactly an explosion but there might have been one if I hadn’t heard the choked, rasping sounds of the little caged gennie gasping for help from its hot hellish box.

I managed to style it out and carry on, no harm done to the ice cream thanks to my very handy eutectic plates in the freezer. But now, as I investigate further, not only will I have to impale the box with a series of heat rescuing holes, but the gennie is absolutely screwed. It sounds like a dying tiger, belching out pained involuntary growls. And the only person who can fix it is in Nottingham.

Did I ever mention that these sort of problems are not in any way my bag? What I need is a little practical person living in the corner cupboard of the van and who comes with me wherever I go, drilling holes and fixing stuff along the way. If anyone knows someone….?

Clutch control

I took the van down to the East Greenwich Market on Saturday. As I swung round Hyde Park Corner, over the Vauxhall Bridge and through the sunny streets of Peckham spring was clearly in the air. I counted three ice cream vans heading out that morning. Each shaking off their winter coats and rousing themselves for soft scoop glory.

After my summer 'market research' experiences I have been privy to the world of Mr Whippy and his sharp tongue, so it is always interesting to clock the faces of my fellow mobilers. Apart from a couple of really sorted looking guys up in Harlesden, the comradery seems a bit bleak. On this morning each ice cream man bore a kind of grim-faced determination to shift some cones and staunchly refused any 'wotcha's with me.

I sallied forth to Greenwich where the market had been set up in a kind of Blue Peter-style garden - all stiles and urban scrubland. Eddie the juice man volunteered to manouvre the van into my spot - essentially some bracken covered earth under a tree - I think he thought we'd be there all day if I did it. I'm actually alright at parking the van, but you know...sometimes there are all these blokes around and they kind of want to lend a hand and it was a bit of an awkward spot...

Before long the place was teeming with locals come to check out the new market. It was great! I felt like I was involved in a village fete. The bunting and the rolling for a pig game weren't there but it was as close as we were going to get so near to the Blackwall Tunnel.

I spent most of today sitting in traffic, listening to old tapes and trying to be as alert a driver as possible after my shock earlier in the week. On Monday I was involved in this really full-on road accident. I was on my bike - wearing my helmet for once - when a very hairy situation occured, rendering the two other people flat on their backs on the road, unconscious and me fine. It was the strangest thing. All kind of tripped-out and slow seeming.

Anyway, the point is, Jimmy needs a good run. He can't be dealing with all this stopping and starting and I'm sure I'm getting a thick left leg from the endless clutch-control. Next week we're heading to Manchester to do a job for Topshop so that should do it. Can't wait to get on the open road!