Typhoon

The day started with a jolt. On checking my oil, I noticed that my fan belt had partially destroyed itself but was still hanging on by the canvas. A fan belt is doubly important because it drives the fan (duh) but also the water pump. Without that, we’d be stuffed. I had a spare. Was it the right size, though? I offered it up (as they say, in the lingo of those who know) and it seemed about right. But what if we couldn’t get the new one on, having cut the old one away? Fortune favours the brave and all that, so snip snip, off it came. The new one went on rather easily — in fact, alarmingly easily. In the vernacular, I would describe it as “baggy”. Oh well, nothing to do but worry that it would fly off and (see above) we’d be stuffed.

I then discovered that my exhaust system was hanging not even by a thread. It was fixed front and back, but the mid-section rubber bobbin had severed itself and the silencer was clacking about like a maraca. I usually carry spare bobbins but, inexplicably, chose not to this time. Wire, though, I have aplenty — and a good amount was used on this job.

I’m also aware that the frame of the bodywork is working itself loose. The squeaking and groaning are becoming cacophonous; it’s like hearing your baby cry — you can stand it for so long and then…

I decided to join the safe route with Ham and the guides in case the whole car fell apart. Unfortunately, I had not communicated this with my navigator, who, as we all know, is the boss. The boss was cross. It also meant that the route she had just agreed with Nigel was un-agreed. Double penalty points. Nigel and Zara travelled alone, and we went with the crowd.

Sorry — all the above reads a bit like old men discussing their ailments. No one cares apart from the teller of the story. Apologies.

We arrived at our new hotel near the border just as the weather began to deteriorate. I’m now writing this while witnessing a howling gale with rain to match. There’s a typhoon further north and we’re getting the tail of it. Wow!

Tomorrow we enter Malaysia. Less than a week to go.

Ham trundles on. Paddy didn’t occasion any disaster in the Rolls. The Vauxhall arrived exhausted (see what I did there?) and Louisa purrs happily.