Never mind this love bollox, Tom, here's one for you.
I was reminded yesterday, whilst driving, of "interference" on car radios back in the day, a terrible buzzing, when our car, or, more often, a passing motorbike, was not fitted with a suppressor. Motorbikes were particularly inclined not to have a suppressor. 2 of mine did not, & the neighbour use to kick up rotten, as it interfered with her TV.
I suppose the problem disappeared when coils & magnetos went out of fashion?
We used to stop at a place called Flash Lane, our camp was a wide grass verge on a quiet roadside just outside the village of Wickersley.
Back then we had a 12 volt portable telly which had to be connected to the lorry battery. The telly was never put on during the daytime, one, because the lorry was usually out and two, because we had to conserve battery power if we didn't want it to conk during the 9 O'Clock film.
This meant that 6pm was our usual time to start telly watching. (It would be later in summer, but Flash lane was a winter camp). By 6 we would have finished our chores, moved the horses, fed the dogs, had a wash, had our tea etc, and the whole family of us would sit in a row on the bunk while my dad 'put the wires on' and tuned in the telly.
First up would be the 6 O'Clock news. My dad was always big on current affairs and paid great attention to each bulletin. Unfortunately, every day at a couple of minutes past six, right in the middle of the main story, a bloke on a moped would pass our caravans on his way home from work. his machine's electrical system was obviously unsuppressed because the interference on our little TV started when he was about half a mile away and didn't stop until he was half a mile past.
My dad, a mild mannered man who for the most part bore life's troubles and tribulations with good natured stoicism would grit his teeth, cup his ear in his hand and try to make out what the newsreader was saying between the hisses, pops and crackles.
One evening, a particularly gripping report about a sinking ship was reaching it's conclusion when moped man came past. My dad, his patience finally exhausted leaped to his feet and shouted, "Jesus Christ! I wish those bloody sparks would go straight up that bastard's arse".
You had to know my dad to understand just how out of character this was. We were hysterical. We were still laughing when we went to bed.
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