📣 Shared from From Les Mucklow’s Garage page.

Evenin’ all. Thought I’d best say somethin’. Not usually one for all this internet palaver but folk keep poppin’ by askin’ if I’ve noticed “anything odd” of late. So yes. Yes I have.

For one thing, the clocks in the workshop’ve gone peculiar. The one over the kettle's started going backwards between the hours of two and four (though the tea still steeps properly, thank heavens), and the tick from the grandfather clock — which I only keep for company — has become more of a sort of gulping noise.

The petrol pumps are misbehaving. Pump 1, which hasn’t worked since we joined the EU, started whirring of its own accord yesterday morning. Old Mrs Felter claims it tried to charge her £2.87 for “a squirt of smoke and a childhood memory.” I’ve since put a pylon cone over it and told Keith not to touch it.

Also, a Ford Cortina what broke down on the bypass in 1993 has reappeared in Bay 3. No sign of the owner. Just the engine ticking, gently warm. Windscreen wipers going like mad, though it’s bone dry. No keys.

And I’ll tell you what really turned me stomach — the radio’s stuck on Radio 3, but it’s not Radio 3. It’s some other channel. It’s mostly just breathin’, and the occasional sound of calliope music, all faint and wet-sounding, like it’s comin’ from down a well.

Anyway. If Terry happens to swing by, tell him his moped’s ready. I tuned the carburettor and left a jam sandwich in the basket like he likes. No charge — just bring back the spanner he borrowed in 1998.

Lights keep dimming. I’m off to check the fuse box and mutter at it until it behaves.

Yours in oil and apprehension,
Les Mucklow
Mucklow’s Garage, Est. Sometime Around When The Beatles Split Up