Also, there are several types of scary.
There's the sudden loud noise "Jesus H Christ, I just almost shit myself" scary. (Terrifying but too brief to worry about)Here's a quick example of this type of scary.
Actually this may not be such a quick example so you will have to excuse the superfluous detail, I'm in a rambly mood.
Years ago I used buy used automotive parts for export. I didn't export the parts myself, it worked like this.
A firm in Warrington used to give out a list of parts that they were buying that week, the list would typically consist of about 200 different items - engines, gearboxes, starters, dynamos, alternators, clutch & pressure plates, steering racks, shock absorbers etc etc... Some of these items were evergreen, always on the list, always in demand hence always difficult to find. Some items were new or for one week only, these were the orders that we wanted.
Each part was accompanied by a part number if available and a brief description.
There was often also some "Deal breaker" info. The, "If it doesn't have this, it's the wrong part" info.
Sometimes a part worth say, £150 was very similar to a part worth virtually nothing, so you had to be very careful what you bought. Example - Ford Escort engines were re-designed in 1967 to have a crossflow head, (Extra internal channels for water to flow through) The crossflow head looked exactly the same as the pre crossflow head except it had a half inch bulge near the thermostat housing.
This information was invaluable to us, the buyers, who used to roam around the nation's scrap-yards trying to find, identify and purchase this stuff.
It was invaluable too in the sense that with the right information, an unscrupulous person might say, be able to fabricate a bulge, or a flange, or a fitting of some kind to miraculously turn a wrong part into a right one. (Not that I ever did, swelp me God)
Anyway... Me and my brother Tracy were both in doing the same job so to save stepping on each other's toes we divided the country up into North and South. I had everything from Leicester up and he had everything down.
Some of the items on the list were evergreen, always in demand hence always difficult to find. Some items were new or for one week only, these were the orders that we wanted but Mr Morgan, the head honcho in Warrington had his favourites amongst us suppliers and the favourites got the special orders.
You got to be a favourite by taking the time to find the non-profitable stuff that made Mr Morgan's life easy. He might ask for two dozen Mini/Austin rocker covers to replace damaged ones on engines he had bought. At 50p each they weren't worth the effort of taking them off but they pleased Mr Morgan and they often led to you being given a special order.
Tracy and I, both regular recipients of one-off "Special" orders were given a one week opportunity to supply as many Eaton Twin-speed back axles as we could. It was a great order because Eaton twin-speeds were reasonably plentiful in commercial vehicle breakers yards, with perhaps one or two in each. We could buy them for around £30 each and we were selling them for between £90 and £120. This was around 1985 so even after exes we are talking very good money.
The Deal breaker" identification on the Eaton Twin-speeds was the nut that held the prop-shaft flange on to the differential. The nut on the correct axle was twice the size of the one on the wrong axle and so everyone referred to them as "Big nut" axles
As was occasionally the way, Tracy and I decided to partner up and work all hours for the week. It made sense because commercial breakers are well scattered across the country and we could take turns driving and sleeping.
One day towards the end of our Eaton Twin-speed week, we were in a breakers yard in Oxford. We had purchased and loaded two or three axles and now the owner, an extraordinarily overweight Geordie with an enormous belly and a bald head the size of a microwave oven was showing us around his collection of vintage lorries.
Something happened. At first I didn't know what it was. One minute I was looking at vintage trucks, the next I was 100 yards away behind a parked car, heart going like a trip-hammer and deaf save for a constant ringing in my ears.
Slowly my senses returned and I realised that there had been an explosion. I raced back to find Tracy approaching me from 100 yards in the opposite direction.
We went back to where the lorries were and after a quick look around discovered that a vintage 1000 x 20 tyre on an old Foden had given up the ghost and burst into a thousand pieces with a noise like the end of the world. Tracy and I had both instinctively legged it.
"Where's he gone then?" Tracy asked.
"Where's who gone? I replied in a trembling voice, still quite badly shaken.
"Him" Tracy said, "Big Nut"
We found him hanging on to the tailgate of a truck, trying to gather his wits. I wanted to ask him if he was OK but I was laughing so hard at Tracy's quip I couldn't speak.
I don't know why I found it so funny, perhaps I was a bit hysterical. I laughed all the way home and intermittently throughout the night. I'm still laughing about now as I write, almost 40 years later.
I told you I was in a rambly mood.
I can just imagine you all reading this with totally dead-pan faces, shaking your heads and thinking, that's it, he's finally cracked.
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