Martin - We Need to Weaken the Mixture

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Epub ISBN: 9780753545485

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Virgin Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing,

20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

London SW1V 2SA

Virgin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

Text copyright Guy Martin 2018
Illustrations copyright Ryan Quickfall 2018
Cover photography by Sam Christopher
Cover design by Two Associates

Guy Martin has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

First published in the United Kingdom by Virgin Books in 2018

www.eburypublishing.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9780753545454

THE NAME OF this book came to me on an early morning drive to Silverstone, where I was going to race Jenson Button in a pair of Williams historic Formula One cars, one of which Id helped restore. I was within three miles of the circuit, with time to spare, when I pulled into a petrol station for a cup of tea and the loo.

My mate Gary was in the van with me. When I walked towards the services toilet I looked over my shoulder and told him I needed to weaken the mixture. I knew I had to because I darent fart.

I could tell by the look on his face he didnt know what I was talking about, and Id be surprised if you did either. Like quite a lot of directions Ive taken in life, it started with my dad. He swears by cod liver oil, and he was still working on trucks hard, physical labour six days a week, into his seventies, so I started taking it, hoping it would do the same for me. The difference between us, when it comes to cod liver oil at least, is hes very much a recommended dosage kind of person and Im not.

Ill take between seven or eight of the one-a-day cod liver oil capsules every day. And Im not talking about the little M&M-sized capsules: no, no, no, no. The ones I take would choke a horse.

There are times, like that Thursday on the way to Silverstone, when I know I might be overdoing it and the cod liver oil is purging my system. When I have how would a doctor put it? very loose stools, I know Ive purged the system and I need to weaken the mixture. I dont do anything drastic, I just need to knock it back a tablet, the equivalent of a quarter turn of the air mixture screw or dropping a carburettors needle a notch, to get back on track. Thats as close to a guide to life as I have now: dont do anything too drastic, just weaken the mixture.

Ive started giving the same cod liver capsules to Nigel the dog, too, because he gets a bit stiff now and then. Sometimes I give him one in the morning and one at night, but if he has a runny arse I know I need to back it off for him, too.

The loose stool is the sign either of us is running too rich and we need to weaken the mixture.

Weve sold a fair few of the previous books, so someone must like them. Ive written this one the same way I wrote When You Dead, You Dead and Worms to Catch, writing most chapters not long after what Im describing actually happened. That means Im writing it without the benefit of much hindsight, but with the memories, thoughts and emotions I felt at the time still in my mind. Doing it this way means I contradict myself sometimes, like when I wrote I was never going back to the Isle of Man TT and only an idiot would do something like that. It turns out I was that idiot. The pros of writing books like I choose to, almost like a diary of the interesting, and sometimes not so interesting, stuff I do, is youre getting it straight from the horses mouth, as it happened, with no filter.

The problem with that, at least from where Im sat, is youre sometimes reading about me at my worst, when Im annoyed, tired, mithered and ready to get back to the truck yard. Youll spot those bits when you get to them. This book was written over a period of 18 months and after finishing it and reading it through from start to finish, Ive been a bit harsh about some people and sounded like a massive wanker at other times. I did think about changing it so I didnt look so bad, but that wouldnt have been the true story, so Ive kept it just how I felt in the heat of the moment, not the more mellow view I had after time has healed the situation. I hope you enjoy it.

THERE WASNT MUCH time between finding out Kirmingtons pub was closing and me thinking I should buy it. I look back now and realise I bought the Marrowbone and Cleaver for the wrong reason. Becoming a pub owner was purely an emotional decision not a business one. As far as I was concerned Kirmo, the village I grew up in and still think of as the centre of the universe, had always had a pub and it needs one.

Once the thought had lodged in my brain things happened quickly.

At first I didnt think anyone was going to take it over, then I was told that someone was going to buy it. That turned out to be rubbish. Then someone else was going to buy it and turn it into a house and that didnt happen, but I was worried someone would so I rung the pub chain that owned it, Enterprise Inns, and put a bid in. They had another couple of people in the running, or so they told me. A few days later they accepted my bid. Now what? I thought. From it closing to me handing over the money was no more than a month.

For what it is, a pub, with parking, a bit of land and outbuildings, it wasnt expensive, it might have been a bit over 140,000. Im not Richard Branson or a property tycoon, and Im not flash or owt, but Ive got a few quid, so I thought, lets keep it going as a pub. So many pubs are being converted into houses, and I understand why, but it wasnt right for Kirmo. Im not sure if this one had planning permission for a change of use, but how long would it have to stand as a boarded-up eyesore before the council changed their minds about that?

I didnt need to get a loan or mortgage. That meant I didnt have to waste money on a property survey. The Marrowbone was a bit of a shit tip by the time it had closed, I could see that. It was tired around the edges especially the kitchen, which was a bomb-site and wouldnt pass any kind of inspection. It was what Id describe as grufty: sticky around the door handles, and a bit of hair in the congealed fat in the corners. Even though it was years after the fag ban, there was still a stale smell of cigarette smoke about the place. Food is such a big part of most pubs livelihoods now that it was a priority. So we needed to do it up. A bloke from Kirmington, Phil Tate, who my dad knew and lived opposite my sister, was chosen to manage the refurbishment of the place. Hed lived in Kirmington for years and he ended up doing a great job.

Phil explained the options. We can do it up or we can do it up or we can do it up. I said I wanted it doing up, but not a hundred grand do it up.