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Biscuits for the Busmeister.

Trip to Warwickshire to see, and bring biscuits (Liebniz, Viennese Whirls, Fruit Shortcake) to my friend Robin Fearn, a.k.a Busmeister, a leading light of the VW T3 scene. Amongst the customer vehicles (Robin has just completed a PD 130 conversion to the recently reupholstered Doka on the ramp), we see his Carat which, when his client order book allows, will receive V8 might from a donor S6, and ride on Porsche Sport Design 18's. Also seen here, Robin's Massala Red panel van, recently converted to MK3 GTi 8v propulsion, the 16v's manifold being too large for the bay. Finally, we see a customer's Doka, with bespoke rear panels and a new A8 subframe, waiting in the paint booth, shortly to receive V8 brawn from an S8. More on Robin here: https://busmeister.com/
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RIP Quincy

Michael Jackson's back catalogue is on rotation today: 1979's Off The Wall album, his fifth solo, is in my top ten; Rock With You is a spectacular track. Even now, every time I hear it, I'm transported back to the Amnesia terrace in about 1997, with Jason Bye playing it with the sun rising: a 24-carat Balearic moment.  I've always been a Michael Jackson fan, and after all that, er, unpleasantness, I thought hard about the whole separating the art from the artist question. In the end, I couldn't imagine not listening to Off The Wall, or Thriller, or even Bad again.  With the songwriting skillls of Cleethorpes' Rod Temperton, Quincy at the desk, and MJ at the top of his game, the albums are all greater than the sum of their parts. RIP Q. What a career. 
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Uncharacteristically personal post. Delete if not allowed.

Definitely not a cry for help (I'm FINE), and not attention-seeking (well, no more than usual, any road) and I think I'm writing it to keep a record of it, and offload it: Better out than in (as my dear, sweet, grandmother would say). I've always loved an off-season seaside resort. I enjoy the melancholy vibe. I particularly love this stretch of Welsh *checks* Cambrian coast; the location of many happy family holidays with my parents, brother, aunt, uncle, cousins, and Grandad Evans, who I adored: Funny, mild-mannered, generous: a true role model. He died when I was 12; the first human death I experienced. I think of him often, in fact, every time I wash my face in cold water; something he did every night; he told me so in a holiday cottage not far from here, in Harlech; one of those trivial incidents and conversations which resonate for a lifetime. I've been melancholic for a while, particularly in the last week, where the deaths of people have made me think of mort
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