preparing for my 48 hour bender to make christmas eve and day mildly tolerable so i dont kill myself

The Tale of the Ford F-150, the 911 Turbo Cab, and MG Midget

People often tell me I have a wonderful job. And I’m not being modest, falsely or otherwise, when I reply, “Well, yes, if you like cars, you’d like my job. But if you don’t, or you don’t like writing—or better yet, if you don’t like writing inside on a beautiful day while a turbocharged 488 Spider from Maranello marinates in your driveway, going nowhere—then it wouldn’t be the job for you.”

Of course my interlocutors assume I like cars, which is a fair assumption, since I own so many. And that’s ignoring the parade of quality test cars that arrives at my doorstep over the course of the year. Some days, I am less immersed in cars than I am submerged in them. So completely I can’t get out.

But you won’t hear me complaining. Last week brought a Ford F-150 Limited Edition quad cab and a Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet, and I drove them a lot. Which is to say a lot a lot. With a 1965 MG Midget recently back from a summer freshening regimen at Dominick’s European Car Repair of White Plains, New York, it made for a near perfect week of motoring, with accents on utility and fun. That motor vehicles—one old, two new—could do so much for my mood made me feel shallow and simple, like it really doesn’t take that much to please me. And any one of these could have pleased me. But as a fleet, the improbable composition of this trio was, for the 1,400 miles I spent rolling down the road last week, ideal.

Ford F-150

Pickup trucks are my first choice for towing cars. So even though I’m not down on the farm, off the beaten path or down at the home improvement center buying materials, (I’m even less handy around the house than I am around the garage,) I’ve really gotten to know a bunch of pickups this summer, towing a variety of cars hither and yonder for television shows filming in and around New York. My full report on American pickup-dom will have to wait, but once you get over the height and heft of these things, one clear takeaway is this: they’re plenty easy to drive. And once you’re confident in your trailering skills—an ongoing process, competence growing with experience—they can even be downright pleasant. Maybe you knew that a long time ago. But maybe you’re not a New Yorker who’s spent decades driving small wagons and hot hatches.

So hats off from this newbie to the F-150—it’s at or near the top of its class in all areas and, if you remain in its comfort zone—that is, unmistakably wide, open spaces—it’s not hard to see why it’s the best-selling vehicle in America. Though I must now pause to commend the Chevrolet Silverado I drove earlier this summer, and the Toyota Tundra, too. And I’ve heard only good things about the new Ram I’ll drive later in the month. The good news is, they’re pretty excellent, each and every one. As they ought to be, with stickers not far off $75,000.

With all the room and comfort a bod could need, the F-150 Limited Edition certainly won the approval of my ten-year-old (and improbably tall) son, a lad who views backseat accommodations with the critical eye of one who’s seen hundreds. As the captain of this ship, I was impressed by its lined bed, potent air conditioning facility, reversing cameras which made hooking up a trailer easier and the 17-mile-per-gallon fuel economy served up by an Eco-Boost V-6 while towing a 1955 T-Bird, a number that went just over 20 mpg when driving trailer-less. Which isn’t all one could hope for, but still a good sight more than we’re used to seeing in trucks.

Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet

The aforementioned ten-year-old, who follows baseball with religious fervor, had never been to Boston’s Fenway Park, one of the nation’s oldest and finest cathedrals of baseball. So one afternoon early in the fall, I pulled him out of fifth grade, collecting him in a Turbo S cab and leaving New York by the FDR Drive for a sprightly run up to Boston, followed by a Red Sox–Blue Jays game—the Sox win everything, so they won—and an even sprightlier run home in the wee hours.

If you’ve driven a late model 911 Turbo you know it’s light years removed from its earliest turbocharged predecessors, which were like death-defying rail dragsters compared to the even faster yet infinitely more accommodating and agreeable all-wheel-drive models of today. The 911 Turbo has grown bigger and perceptibly less sharp of steering over the years but its capabilities have never stopped growing, either. Together with substantial improvements in occupant safety and the world of on-board telematics, the new package’s massive competence overshadows modernity’s few sensual demerits.

I, for one, will never forget the feel of utter capability and on-demand power as I took advantage of reduced middle-of-the-night traffic—and a sleeping child—to explore the Turbo’s uncanny ability for making time stop. It seemed like only a matter of minutes before we were back in New York, though the clock said 238 miles in 3 hours, 5 minutes. If I were a regular intercity traveller with an ability to travel at night, and the required funds ($207,000, please,) one of these would be on my short list.

1965 MG Midget

Twin carburetors or not, it’s hard to imagine that 1,098ccs could be this much fun. But then you probably haven’t driven a 1,620-lb car lately, much less one with a rigid unibody, a microscopic turning circle and hyper-direct steering like this Midget. Driving flat out, you’ll be keeping up with traffic while enjoying maximum giggles and recording 35 miles per gallon and more, rarely exceeding the speed limit. That is a recipe for safe, entertaining, and rewarding driving.

A Midget is a sweet and potent reminder of why the post-war generation fell in love with sports cars in the first place. It’s like nothing you’ve ever driven, unless you’ve sat behind the wheel of a Lotus 7 or one of its Caterham descendants. Those cycle-fendered archetypes are even more elemental and perhaps that last bit more direct, but come minus some key creature comforts, like this Midget Mark II’s roll up windows, locking doors, and superior (though hardly perfect) weather perfection.

A Midget is not your first choice for distance travel, though it could be done. While it might grow a little wearing, the BMC A-Series OHV four will spin all day long, even if it’s turning 4000 rpm at 65 mph. Winter driving isn’t recommended either.

But in the right setting the Midget is a joyous paean to the pre-computer automotive era, designed sixty years ago by humans with big slide rules and bigger hammers to deliver maximum fun from humble parts, and it remains just the ticket for an enthusiast getting around town, or better yet, headed five towns down the road. In the company of a 911 Turbo for intergalactic highway travel and a Ford F-150 for heavy hauling, it made for an essential counterpoint in my motoring week, as well as helping to make the point that, with automobiles, as with most things, diversity makes the world a better place.

 The post The Tale of the Ford F-150, the 911 Turbo Cab, and MG Midget appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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T MINUS 10 HOURS UNTIL VOLTRON SEASON 4. IM HAVING A BREAKDOWN ALREADY LADS GO ON WITHOUT ME

So for one reason or another, I decided not to blog the operation. My blog posts are sporadic as they are. So I guess I’m just keeping it real…

So yip, I’ve been in. First I must say. The Queen Elizabeth in Birmingham. Wow. Just. Wow. I had the best care ever. Ive been in numerous hospitals, all over Europe but QE. Wow. And yeah, There was super fast FREE wifi :) Which just made it even more unreal. Back to reality. All the nurses, doctors, cleaners, people I met or had look after me in the 32 Hours stint. Thank You. And you are AWESOME! Just plain unreal. Really made sure I was in the most comfortable, happy, healthy situation I could ever be in. They really did the best job ever! And big shout to Mr Beech. Fantastic job. You rock!

So, operation number 4…. in just around 5 years. Every year I have to go through the same ordeal. Mind going overtime. I love my family. And to get through any operation however big or small is massive. All sorts of things can go wrong. So just to be able to wake up, and hear my daughters voice again is massive. I know that its not going to end here. These polyps are here to stay. Im sure of it.I have no idea why they have come along. Just out of the blue, out of nothing, just appeared. But isn’t that what illnesses do? Not even my doctors can explain why. We have tried all sorts of things to help. But nothing bloody does. ever. But from now on, I’m not gonna be down about it. I’m going to do my best to stay as upbeat as life allows. 

Wednesday 22nd March. Left home for the 3 hour drive to Birmingham. The M6 was rubbish, even in the early hours of the morning that we left. I had to be there 7am sharp. Or so I thought. Nope, ambulatory services wont open until 7:30am. We got there early. around 6:30am. So yeah we had a little wait on our plate. 7:30am comes, and me along with a sea of others get ushered into a reception area where we get squirted with some disinfectant stuff. I found that hilarious! So escorted to my recovery area for later in the day along comes thee Mr Beech. After a short conversation about the early wake and trip down it was decided that I would be in Birmingham for the night. Something that turned out to be the best decision ever made by mankind. I was number 3. And my time slot was around 11:30am. Going back to previous operations I knew that the procedure is relatively straight forward and I would be solid gone for around 45mins while I’m excavated. Not this time. So I impatiently waited with really poor 3g service (had no idea about the amazing wifi at this point) while the guy next to me went first in line for his Polypectomy. Yeah I guess he was a larger possibly less fit guy than me, but in 2 hours time when he came back from the recovery area, I got a tad nervous. He looked as if he had been kicked in the face by a planet. Puffy eyes and bloody nose. The moans and groans just rounded the whole experience off. This was the chaps first Polypectomy (I overheard the information before he went to theatre) So maybe he just had no idea what to expect? So yeah, at some point, subject number 2 had been whisked off and maybe brought back… I have no idea… Cant remember seeing him? But my turn came. Operation gown on, 100% cotton pants on and a lovely smiling nurse, I think her name was Rachel, Came to escort me to theatre along with Dave. On the bed I jumped and Dave took the wheel. The last operation I had I actually walked to the operating table, which was pretty intense and quite surreal. So the ride was bliss. Scott from Devon and Lucy from Llanelli were next. They were just like a comedy duo. With grade A banter. Apparently Scott forgot to sign his last patient in. We had a chuckle, what a lad. They stayed with me as we went onwards to the sleeping chamber :) or the room they drop you with whatever the hell is in that anaesthetic potion. WOW. Whatever it was, I really would love some more. It took longer that the 15 count for me to feel it which was quite funny, hearing the tick tock but then from nothing, from the feet up I felt as if I was being strung up by the toes a million miles in the air. Eyes closed and POOF. 

The wake up. The effing wake up. Recovery room is usually great. Had 2 really sweet nurses looking after me. One was new and being trained by the other. What a great job she was doing too. But I remember shivering. I wasn’t cold. Or I don’t remember the cold sensation, could be that I was still under the druuuugs. But they covered me in the most amazingly warm blanket. But It felt that it covered not just me, but the whole world. It was comfy and smooth. Heaven in a recovery room. But after all the questions were asked and somehow answered half cut then with a blink Mr Beech appeared. “That, was needed” Were the only words I remembered. But I just wanted to give him a hug with my global warmth. I didn’t know if he needed it, but he deserved it. Obviously I couldn’t really move so had no chance. I just knew then that he had done spiffingly. Excavation complete and recovery on track. 2 and a half hours I was out for. Had no idea me nostrils were so large. So back to my OWN room now and t minus 30 for sleep time. I just had to, shattered and in pain I went out like a light for a few hours.

And so now nearly a week later, I’m just about getting there. Still tired and In some kind of pain. But recovery is most def on track. Who knows how long they will stay away, I hope to keep you in the loop, and I hope you will get in that loop. 

Life is very very difficult with Nasal Polyps. Only us with Nasal Polyps will understand this but Life really can be difficult. Everything you do revolves around you breathing through your nose. Go on, even for a few hours, close up your nostrils however you can, pop your ears, and hit your face on a brick wall 10-15 times. See how you can comfortably live, function, work, love, happy, sad, cry, kiss, laugh, love, live like this. You’ll struggle. No doubt.

M