Signs Of Life

   We shook on the purchase of the two vans and wandered off down the garden to start fettling and exploring.  Rachel grabbed Molly's door handle and without hesitation, the door fell off  its hinges.  A sign of things to come perhaps.
   After releasing Molly from the briars we set about taking a look at the engine.  The bonnet is about just about big enough to get your head trapped and nothing more.  The carb to air filter hose and the engine inspection cover were off already so that made us think that someone may have attempted to start her at some point in the last ten years.  We connected up a half knackered battery from my freshly scrapped 405 and tried to jump it off Rachels little golden clio.  The engine turned over freely.  There was, however, no spark and no fuel getting to the pump, let alone the carb.

   We presumed that the diaphram had perished, or, more likely, the fuel tank/ lines were blocked with silt, rust and other crap.  I pulled off the pump, took it apart, gave it a nod and put it back together again.  It still didn't pull fuel up from the tank so we settled for a bit of old pipe and a fairy liquid bottle as an auxilary tank.
   Next was the ignition system; new rotor, coil, condenser, plugs and leads.  Still no spark.  I followed meters of corroded wiring around the van without any joy.  One of the terminals on the starter solenoid looked a bit iffy so we replaced that as well.  Still no spark.  Then a helpful voice muttered in my ear; 'Have you cleaned the points?'  and with a splutter and a puff of smoke Molly merrily woke up and appeared to be rather over come by the whole ordeal.
   That makes it all sound rather easy but in reality there was much more head scratching, cups of tea, bleeding knuckles, swearing, kicking, chocolate hobknobs, petrol soaked gloves, electric shocks and shitting in the garden.