Smokin'

And so, after an incredibly frustrating off road period of nearly two months, the two stroke atrocity is back in my custody, and sputtering around the back roads of Angus again.

There are long faces at the Commissariat for the People's Finances as I'm now £500 lighter, having re-taxed the car again, and paid the garage bill. Still, as they used to say in the DDR, we build socialism by marching forward together. In a heroic effort of truly Stakhanovite proportions, perhaps meriting a mention for the coveted "Adolf Hennecke" medal for overfulfilment of the five year plan, the garage has done quite a bit; fixed the suspension; fixed mis-aligned front brakes; put in new seat belts and indicators.

I went for around 20kms. worth of sea trials today, in and around Brechin. The car is running much better after its extended "rest" and with the new spark plugs. Fourth gear engaged no bother, the dart flew up to 88km/h (55mph) without any complaint. It's really good to have it back in circulation, although I'd begun to get used to being Trabantslos.

I'm off globetrotting again on Thursday (my Czech friend is holding out the tempting prospect of much Trabant-Wartburg related amusement in Brno next week) but hopefully there will be time for a couple of extended meanderings in the dart this week before I set off.

Estonia News




I had a really good time in Tallinn again last week, despite the Estonian football team's dismal failure to make any dent on their Russian opponents last Saturday. The Estonians look decent enough in the middle third of the field, but as soon as they approach an opponent's goal, it all collapses horribly. Sclaffs, rubber legs, unaccountable falling over for no reason, and a general cluelessness, were all in evidence. Last Saturday, during Russia's deserved 2-0 win at the A. le Coq stadium in Tallinn, it seemed as though the FSB had beamed a magnetic forcefield across the Russian goalmouth, from one of their deep space communication satellites. Russia's terrific midfielder, Arshavin, controlled the game imperiously, and the Estonians couldn't find a way to stem his subtle promptings, two of which Kerzhakov scored from. Estonia had several decent chances but just cannot score (I believe they haven't scored for well over a year now). English journalists are currently speculating on the departure of the hapless Steve McLaren, as national team boss, after his badly misfiring side travel to Tallinn in June; trust me, an Estonian win will not happen, unless the FSB transfer their magnetic forcefield to the Estonian goal (and even then, a 0-0 draw will be the result).

The upshot of my visit, other than this peripheral footballing ephemera, is that I'm defintiely going to be moving out to Estonia in summer 2008. I'm moving to Dundee for the year this summer, and when my lease on my flat there runs out, I should have work and a flat sorted somewhere in Tallinn. I had a chat with my genial hosts Adriaan and Krista about the possibility of bringing the "plastic dart" with me, and it does seem feasible. Montrose-Newcastle (350 kms.); ferry Newcastle-Gothenburg; drive Gothenburg-Stockholm (roughly 600 kms.); then, the final leg, a sixteen hour ferry trip between the capitals of Sweden and Estonia. I reckon that little lot should take me about five days, including ferry journey time.

Before that can happen, the Trabant will need that new engine, and I must look into the possibility of getting a GPS installed. Normally I hate GPS, with the pinging nasal American computer-voice speciously reminding you "you-space-have-space-arrived. Nonetheless, I don't fancy a journey of that magnitude without some help. Perhaps I can get a GPS with a customised Montrose accent instead. That's it, thin, eh. Aabdy happy?

Plenty of adventures to keep readers interested coming up over the next eighteen months or so, then! I'll update again before I leave for London on Thursday.