For the first time this year, and the first time since last June, we suffered a rain off at Swindon. The news broke at about 4.30pm and by that time the whole place was awash.
But it had all started off under quite bright skies, albeit with a biting wind.
One of the problems of leaving the air fence panels out permanently during the season (there are just too many here at Swindon to even consider taking them all in at the end of each meeting) is that they tend to trap rain water. As a consequence, when they are inflated they release quite significant amounts of water across the track in patches. With a dodgy weather forecast, we needed to make sure that the track was as evenly watered as possible, so Mark Price, Punch and I headed off with the water tanker to pump off as much of the water as possible.
It's a thankless and deeply frustrating task. The pipe is heavy and cumbersome, the pump pulls on it when the suction level builds up and the whole thing has a horrible habit of gushing water back onto a panel just when you think you've hosed it all up!
But we persist and our hard work is justified when we raise the air fences and there is little or no run off.
We hook up the air fence to the safety fence and then head back to the pits for a cup of coffee. The clouds are already massing and the promise of afternoon rain is now more than just a possibility.
It's all action in the pits area. Punch has laid his hands on a digger provided by Andy Nurden (one of the Robin's main sponsors) and is leveling out the area around the new foundation for the pits' extension that is being built. Punch and Ronnie were up the day before laying the concrete; the block work is to follow in the next few days.
Derek Franklin is up at the track helping us out today. Derek normally works as the security officer on the riders' gate to the pit complex. He makes himself comfortable in Gerald's chair (shock, horror) and then dives into some of the fruit cake that Flo has brought up for us (double shock, horror).
Even though the portents are against us, we still have to work on as if the meeting is a dead certainty, so I head back out to the centre green with Mark and the Ford "ute".
We need to make sure that spare air fence panels are out and ready together with all of the tools for the track staff.
We check to make sure that all the pumps are filled with petrol and then he goes off to help Roy, Arron and Mick Richards with the banner cleaning while I help out Gerald with the track. Because there is moisture in the air we decided to rip the starts and the exist of turns 2 and 4 quite early.
While we do this, Punch and Ronnie start to apply significant amounts of a very clay laden shale that should give masses of drive out of the starts and the corners whilst helping the surface to really bind together.
Gerald rips the surface, I drive the water tanker and we wet it down and then he packs it down lightly with tractor tyres, just in case the rain does come down. Unpacked shale and lots of rain water are a deadly combination, turning the whole area to slush and bringing about a swift end to any racing for the day.
Behind come Ronnie and Punch with yet more top dressing. Somehow, I get to drive the dreaded JCB. This is a monstrous object that only Punch dares to drive normally. It lurches forward, lurches sideward under breaking and has absolutely no power steering. It takes all of my meagre strength to even turn the steering wheel. They laugh at me. At one stage Punch encourages me to seek reverse. This is a whole new game played out between a hapless driver and the gearbox from hell. I lurch forward; Ronnie leaps to one side; Punch dissolves into fits of laughter.
And so we carry on. While Punch gets more shale I move across to the easier task of driver the water tanker.
But soon I'm called back for more torture at the wheel of the yellow leviathan.
We rip, and water and pack and then rip, water and pack and top dress and pack again until the track is ready.
But there are already rain drops on the windscreen and the first of the banners takes off in the wind across the stadium.
Time for lunch.
And the the rain gets heavier and heavier.
After a stretch in the dry we step outside and start to put up the banners, but it's not looking good. And then it really start to come down about 3.30pm. We wait and look, gloomily, at the sky. If it's a rain off we can't just go home; we'll have to go out in the rain and dismantle everything.
The riders arrive just as the decision is made to call the whole thing off. Travis is annoyed; he's flown in especially from his home in Sweden for this meeting and probably wont be able to get a flight back until Friday. Jurica has flown in from Poland. It was sunny there but very cold. he's now facing a wait for a flight back to Croatia for a meeting, but at least it will be warm there.
But we are facing the elements.
As the rain sweeps across a decidedly soggy Blunsdon, Lakeside team manager Jon Cook comes out onto the track. "It's a bit wet," he comments, before attacking the surface of turn 4 with his heel. "Bloody hell, this is hard. I don't think I've ever seen the Blunsdon surface this hard." We nod in agreement and carry on taking it all down.
So heavy is the rain that by 6pm the drain on turn 1 is struggling to cope and the first sighting of Lake Russell is to be seen in 2009.
There is a sort of gallows humour in Number 96 by the time that we finish. We are all literally soaked to the skin. So wet am I that I drive home wearing a tee shirt and a pair of Y fronts - not an attractive sight - thank God I wasn't pulled over by the police.
It's been a waste of a day, but there again perhaps not so bad. We have Sky with us on Monday so at least the banners and the air fence wont need cleaning!
Sky on a Monday means a working party on the Saturday before. We all want to make sure that the old place looks as good as we can make it.
Bob and Arron apply a new covering of sealant to the pits floor while Roy and Keith paint the kickboards. Punch and Gerald amuse themselves rigging up a new watering system for the Mowlex water tanker while my 14 year old son, Dave, and I paint the white line.
It's very chilly out on the centre green but we are promised a good weekend's weather and more of the same on Monday.
Once we've finished the entire white line, Dave and I get changed and head off to Twickenham to watch the EDF Cup final between Gloucester and Cardiff Blues. Being charged £30 to park my car at Twickenham has hardly made me a fan of the RFU - but that rant will come about later. Never more will I shirk at having to pay £1, or £5 or even £10 to park a car. £30 - unbridled greed. Calm down ... compose yourself (or as Kate Winslett would gush "Gather, gather!") for Sky are coming to call and that's always a whole bundle of fun.
