Preparation of the panels is still ongoing. You can’t believe how much time it takes once you have decided that you want a proper job doing. Make the doors blue inside and out, tap the arches to the front wings straight, paint inside the wings as necessary, reinforce the wings with a little foam filling here and there, it all adds up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bootlid was a nightmare. Always a bit thick with paint as the original boot from Angelina back in the day, I decided that it could be made pretty, and lighter, by flatting it right back. As someone has nicked my sander, the very large angle grinder with a sanding disc on it seemed the way forward. I really hadn’t thought this through. I wanted to flat it down, but what I found was bare metal, in a real hurry, and was covered in a mixture of blue, green and gold dust in a matter of seconds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Angelina, if I recall this correctly, was originally a V12 auto in black. The owner then had it resprayed to concours standard in a nasty metallic rush green, which is when the car gained the South African spec bronzed glass I still use. Then it went off to the Ball brothers, in whose hands it was a metallic racing green that might have been a Daihatsu paint, and when she went racing she gained a gold stripe stem to stern. In my hands she lost the stripe and went back to green, and then the blue that became the signature colour for Helen’s career. Well, I found evidence of all this history in the first ten seconds, because I was wearing it.

 

The decision to bare-metal the boot was therefore made for me. It took some time. Getting it flat again afterwards took more time. A lot more time. Never ever do this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Every panel I encounter needs work. The door and front wing took damage from Coppock in 2009 at Oulton Park. Both front and rear wings had evidence of close racing with Chris Palmer, mostly at Cadwell. The driver’s door still had a ding in the front from the crash that ended Angelina’s life at that fated Mallory trackday. The bonnet is all-new as a lightened version with more extensive louvering, but this time the louvers are blended in neatly rather than just plonked on top, they take time to make disappear. Bodykits require attention. Even the sideskirts have scuffs and scratches.

 

But what emerges from these many, many hours, are straight panels that add a bit more gloss and finish to the car. It won’t last, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t start out like this.

The beefed up front subframe returns from the platers. It’s good. But it could be better, so it goes back again, with orders to leave it in the tank longer next time!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rear subframe is still being played with, because we changed a lot of it. Rear shocks are usually retained by two bolts at the top. I want to use captive nuts, with a hole in the boot floor to allow easy access.

 

The top mounts that hold the diff are also reinforced, by completely replacing them with bigger, wider, very heavy plate. Why? Because the Jaguar ones break. They do, we’ve seen it. These won’t. They are also longer so as to protrude through the cage itself, in case we want to mount something off them later. This is, after all, a car intended to be returned to JEC class F form if or when I choose, and anchoring the rear subframe is something we have been looking at.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The planned shakedown at Brands comes and goes. The planned shakedown at Cadwell passes, and she isn’t ready, the need to attack other cars puts my own on the back burner. But slowly she is coming together.

 

Clutch hydraulics cost a fortune. I want a big-bore braided hose to allow faster clutch return. But even re-sealed the master cylinder won’t have it and a new one is needed. After having my wallet mugged by the invoice, that’s fitted, and turns out not to be the problem after all. A new slave follows, and the thick end of £250 later I have a minutely better clutch pedal. In the fight between budget and Jaguar, sometimes Jaguars win.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To console myself, shiny new Magnecor plug leads and fancy spark plugs. Because I was feeling richer this month.

 

Officer David reappears, and the wiring gets another look over. This time it goes rather better, as there is more car, and a few farenheits in the air. We’re having a small battle of wills, there is the pure race car approach, and there is the “needs to pass an MOT” approach. It doesn’t have to pass an MOT, it’s not as if I plan to commute in it, but if it will, then you definitely fulfil the requirements of every race series I know of.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With that in mind, some of my choices for the interior are a little more road car than race car. A bank of chrome flip-up toggle switches are probably not necessary at all, because a number of the functions I had in mind for them are now, due to his cunning, put back onto the stalks for the steering column. I had largely written these off as superfluous decoration, but they now work again. The language that leaked out of our resident wiring madman as he attempted to decipher the wiper motor wiring was rather stiff.

 

By way of instrumentation, I have splashed out on new gauges. Nothing tricky, just new. Whilst I was prepared to splurge on some fancy digital stuff for this, SPA have been having supply issues with their pressure senders, and that means no oil gauge. Why bother uprating the dash? Well, because the Jag unit is pure comedy, even the JEC no longer require you to use it, and one day this car will have a more expensive lump in the front which will mean watching the readouts carefully, so we might as well have readings we can trust.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve run with a Smiths mechanical pressure gauge for years, crudely rammed into the hole left by a removed vent. Well, it was free, it came from a 1969 MGB I had lying about, and in fairness it has been absolutely spot on, can’t fault it. The one occasion I thought it had gone bandy, it turned out to be correct, the engine blew up.

 

So new Smiths mechanical for the oil, and electric for the water. The two sit in a new dash panel that replaces the XJS centre vents. With the seat in, hands on the wheel, and making brum noises, they are positioned far enough outboard to be seen without moving the hands or head, the panel angled towards the driver to allow a flick of the eyes to read them. Videos have shown that the previous technique to read the oil pressure was let go of the wheel, wave the hand around rather camply, and peer myopically at the gauge whilst hurtling into a braking zone. Having more than once put two wheels on the grass at Oulton Park pulling this trick, time for change.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That row of shiny toggle switches replace the clock/trip computer panel, but again only some are currently needed. The car is being set up to accept later additions should she, for example, ever go night racing again.

 

The big change in here is the missing passenger seat, and centre console. The passenger floorpan still gains the chequerplate floor mat for passengers, the car will still do trackdays. The floorpan retains the location nub for ballast that hid beneath the seat, but this will require revisiting, it was only designed for a single dumbbell weight and the CTCRC require cars to be equipped to carry success ballast. And we hope one day to need to carry some.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With the centre console going walkabout, a few things then need attention. The gearbox cover, which I have seen called a “duck’s foot” for reasons I simply fail to understand, is now on display. Bear has started work on a carbon fibre replacement, but it is some time away. For now, the steel one is on show, and I cut a big hole in it five years ago in a misguided attempt to make gearlever access better, then changed my mind. It has to be repaired properly.

 

The rubber gaiter is shot to bits, full of holes, as is the leather one. Whilst we don’t give it much thought, this is part of your firewall, and has to be addressed. Stealing a rubber from another car is simple, and Evilbay offers a cheap replacement gaiter in a rather effeminate blue. But at least I didn’t go with the suggestion offered by one young lady to go with white leather swathed in diamante.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The old console held switches for the windows, now relocated to the driver’s door. I don’t have to have the windows work, but why not? The motors are quite weighty, but the weight is central, and if I want to run Group 1 I have to keep the glass, and if I’m keeping the glass I want it to go up and down, and if I want it to go up and down it’s this or mechanical winders, and I don’t have any. Plus, there is something joyous about hearing the tyres scream as you tackle Charlies, but having time to crack open the passenger window a little more as you do so.

 

Also now needed is a new way to hold in the kill switch and pull cable for the key. A new panel is made up to fill in the gap twixt dash and tunnel. Having retained the heater, the original bars are still here, so the panel follows their line. Small tabs welded to them allow rivnut inserts, and hence a place to bolt the new panel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything is then covered in fake carbon fibre. The idea is a throwback to the late 70s, when a vinyl roof and fablon were considered normal. Vinyl covering the dash, but in carbon effect, is my tongue in cheek blend of tacky 70s and soul-less 21^st century. Old, but not. Which is an accusation often levelled at the pilot too.

 

The matt black effect also has a bonus point to it. With everything one colour, the important red switches and handles now stand out like beacons. Doesn’t really matter, but one day it just might. Ignition, main power, extinguisher. What more is there?

 

All that we use from the original dash is the rev counter. But to MOT it, it needs a speedo, and that means stealing one to put back in. I threw away all but the face to mine years ago, it didn’t work, so why carry it? Dashboards galore in this garage, the swap is swift. The opportunity to clean the entire instrument cluster isn’t overlooked, and whilst I’m in here the unused barrel gauges for oil, water and fuel are covered, only the charge indicator remains in use, and hence visible. Sneaking the tiny Jaguar sticker in here whilst I’m at it is a pure indulgence.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am spending a huge amount of time on the cosmetics. Very little of this adds any speed, but it’s more, for me, about a feeling of adding a bit more quality to the car. I want to feel that I built something special, getting in and campaigning it should be as familiar as putting on your gloves, but they should be a really nice pair.

 

And with all the attention, everything is getting screwed together really well. No mismatched bolts, nuts, or random sizes. The car should come apart with only a few spanners, which is all about ease of maintenance. And that each bolt is freshly-plated with a good thread, and appropriately lubricated, is all part of that. Stupid as it sounds therefore, the inner child that is being indulged with all this frippery is serving a higher purpose.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr David’s wiring is much more complete this time, and there is a slight easing of his frown. Still not happy with himself, but then he so rarely is. But we like that, it means we get really good stuff out of him. He and the Bear have technical sounding debates about resistors and why the LED indicators don’t behave the same as regular bulbs. By the time he packs his fancy tools away the car is wired. And a push on the relocated starter button fires the engine into life first time of asking. Helen’s thunder on open pipes shakes the pigeons off the roof and rattles the spanners in the toolbox.

 

Better yet, everything now works. Lights both high/low and side, wipers, even the washer bottle would operate if I filled it. Demister, indicators, all operable. Will it pass an MOT? Well, he’s an MOT tester amongst his many talents, so it damned well ought to.

Why was the starter button moved? So that, in the event of a spin, you can push it with the right hand, as the left goes for the gearlever, to save that second of time having one hand do both. I would never have thought of that in a million years. The McGivern did. Handy chaps to have about these McGiverns…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Part XI to follow.