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I used to buy damaged and broken Land rover gearboxes and sell them on to a reconditioning firm. You could buy them at a considerable discount if you were prepared to remove them yourself, so I spent quite a lot of time in scrap yards or on farms, lying under Land rovers covered in grease and old sump oil

Removing a Land rover gearbox is a horrible job, especially when you have to do it outdoors in the winter, working with no ramp and as often as not, having to lie in a puddle or a patch of nettles. The underside of a Land rover is always coated with many years worth of mud and cow shit and once you have chipped your way through this you expose hundreds of rusted nuts and bolts, all put in places designed to make it near impossible to get a spanner on them, you have to be a cross between Einstein and Quasimodo, when you did get the spanner on, it would slip off again when under full pressure, My hands looked like they belonged to a kamikaze mousetrap tester

One particular day I was removing a gearbox but Olaf the Uncomfortable, the spirit that inhabits all Land rovers, just didn’t want me to have it, the vehicle had no wheels, so I had to jack it up to get underneath and major accident damage had wrapped the chassis around the gearbox like a greedy child’s hand around the one toffee he can’t cram into his mouth

The rain was coming down in sheets and little rivulets ran down my collar, along my back and out through my trouser leg as I lay on my back beneath the Land rover, I was cold, wet and miserable, my hands were bleeding and I had bumped my head so many times it looked like a shillelagh, when suddenly I started to feel little jabs of sharp pain all over my body, especially the nether regions, I lifted my shirt and saw to my horror that I was covered with ants

Within 0.5 of a second, I was running around the scrap yard doing a fantastic impression of Michael Flatly’s river dance and flinging my clothes in all directions, I didn’t stop until I was completely naked and had slapped every ant from my body

Sanity returned, and with it the realisation that perhaps I might look a bit silly, standing in the middle of a muddy scrap yard in the rain, without a stitch on, covered in oil, and sporting cuts, bruises and hundreds of rapidly swelling red spots, I looked around anxiously and was relieved to find I had the place to myself, then I noticed the grim, world weary face of an old security guard peering at me from the grubby window of a wooden hut, he showed no emotion, save for slowly shaking his head from side to side

Quickly I started to gather my clothes. Disaster! During my panic driven striptease I had flung my trousers into a large galvanised container obviously used as a receptacle for old sump oil and as I stared at them aghast they slipped beneath the surface of the black glutinous mess

What could I do? I fished my trousers out and after squeezing as much oil from them as possible I put them on. Fortunately I had almost finished removing the gearbox and was soon ready to go

On the way home I stopped to buy some cigarettes, and I happened to notice a posh little gentlemen’s outfitters with a ‘Sale now on’ sign in the window, I didn’t fancy the 60 mile drive home in oil sodden trousers, so I popped inside

The sales assistant, a ‘Mr Humphreys type character, listened with wide eyes and open mouth as I recounted my tale of woe and asked him for a pair of his cheapest trousers, 34 waist. “We have these, £5.99” he said, wrinkling his nose and guiding me away from the merchandise to a sheet of newspaper that he had placed in the middle of the floor, and he offered me a pair of white, yes white corduroys.
“Can I put them on now?” I asked, he agreed but refused to let me use the changing room and instead stood by the window holding his coat open as a screen
“Do you have any scissors?” I enquired, noticing that the trouser legs extended past my feet and several yards along the carpet, he loaned me his scissors and I cut off the trouser legs

I observed my handiwork in a long mirror, Mr Humphreys looked on from behind, the white trousers were now a sea of black fingerprints and while one leg was still a little long, the other terminated just below my knee. I hummed and ahhed, did a couple of twirls, sighed and hands on hips declared, “Naaa, I don’t think I’ll Bother”

PMSL .....  fantastic

As usual I got all excited when I realised this was another Red special, so I settled myself down with my cold coffee, and hankies up my nose.

You cheered me up no end!

Fantastic one AGAIN Tom!

Heid
xx

GREAT story! And he still wears the oil-soaked trousers to this day.

bloody fantastic story red!!!

Classic   :)up

 ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D

Another fantastic 'Jackanory' from the master    8)

you really must write a book RED , it would be a best seller :)up

Back on form...superb stuff !

 ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D

There is a complete change in the atmo on blonde today - wonderful!

Considering there's a new Wallace & Gromit film out...


"CRACKING POST, RED-DOG!"

"Dad, why are you crying?" says my six year old!! (with laughter)


priceless stuff RD, thanks!

After finally "clearing" the forum, I saved this thread to read till last.  Moved myself into the kitchen to read it in peace......

ROFL!!!! Worth the wait and the move, very funny as usual Red!!! :)up

pmfsl


nice one red

you're a real  *r

i think you mean  *a

no i meant  *r  cos he's red-dog

Perhaps James was pointing to Red being a Mod trace, ie a  *a

Behave Ginger.. He meant  *a as in blue star..ie porn star ..He can't get away from the fact ..sporting that Moustach

If you've got it, flaunt it  8)

I guess i'm just far too innocent  0:-), with a moustach like that of course you are right!

Ron Jermy eat yer 'eart out!!!!

I know what he was referring to Jane, but I chose the red one on purpose. lol

Now now girls, no fighting, there's plenty of me to go around  *a *r

Ermmmmmmmmm, who's fighting????

Go on.....fight a little  :)

Nevermind flirting with the girlies Red, concentrate on your EPT sat'!!  ;D

I'm in 20th atm, how are you getting on?

97th, I think I should stick to flirting