Da-lekkin'
- Publication: Street Machine
- Date: October 1987
- Author: Andy Willsheer
- Page:
- Language: English
I'm sheltering from adverse elements in the startline gantry at Santa Pod, chatting with the motley crew and silently cursing the persistent precipitation casting a shadow over the opening day of Gary's Picnic. On-track action has halted and, as I turn to check out the scudding clouds behind the barn ... there it is. No, not the repainted agricultural building now sans rear wall, but something straight from the annals of Doctor Who! I must be mistaken. The gantry erupts into peals of laughter as all heads swivel towards the apparition. "Christ, it's a bloody Dalek" someone shouts as it reappears from behind a parked truck before trundling off to the rain-lashed top pits area. I soon cajole mikeman John Price into putting out a request over the Tannoy for the quaint contrivance to return to the staging area. The rain eases off as I watch the 'thing' manoeuvre through a throng of mystified onlookers before coming to a stop behind the gantry. Peering in I am unable to discern who's inside. A door opens and, lo and behold, crammed behind the steering wheel is the Master of the Universe, well alright, Aylesbury, in the uncannily-lifelike form of Perry Watkins, together with the gal with the infectious giggle, wife Angie. These two had been part of a group of British custom aficionados that accompanied me on a cross-channel jaunt to Ostend a couple of years ago, a show report from which was published in the January '86 Street Machine. Readers may, in fact, recall a picture of a motorised bell present at that affair. Well, it was this crass creation that sowed the seeds of an idea that has materialised in the form of Britain's first street-registered time traveller, a surefire traffic-stopper that invokes even more bemused remarks than the Monster Raving Loony Party election manifesto. It's quite simply bizarre, totally unlike the sano electric blue Ford Pop that was the Watkins' previous custom ride, but there's no denying the certainty of causing a hubbub whenever it takes to the road. An extrovert's delight, I guess.
So how is it built? Well, the mode of construction can best be summarised as rudimentary, though there are numerous touches of ingenuity employed. A homebuilt 2"x1" steel box-section chassis encompasses a pair of Mini dry subframes set so close together that the remote gearchange casing is jammed tight against the rear of the two, making for an overall wheelbase of 48" or, to put this into perspective, 7" less than Andy Saunders' infamous Mini HaHa. The engine and 'box are from a scrap Austin 1100, producing a tad more poke than the 850cc original choice. Cooling chores are handled by an Allegro radiator with electric fan. Perry utilised Mini rack and pinion steering and instrumentation along with shortened clutch, brake and accelerator pedals. Cogs are stirred by the stock-length 'stick embellished by the addition of a length of chromed towel-rack. Occupants perch on a bench seat that was scavenged from another model in the Mini range and are able to peer back at the inquisitive world through 6mm tinted laminated glass. Lidded cubby holes provide minimum storage facilities as well as access to the engine. The interior is trimmed with foil that is normally used to reflect hear from domestic radiators, with the feminine influence evidenced by a length of pink bathroom carpet acting as a floor mat. All very cosy if a trifle claustrophobic. A dual Mini wiper system, interlinked for synchronised operation in order to satisfy MoT regulations, copes adequately in keeping the somewhat-restricted forward vision reasonably clear in our appallingly-inclement climes.
The framework supporting a sundry variety of body panels was designed and welded in 3/4" tubing by Chris of Desperate Dan's — best known for their expertise with choppers and trikes — and attached thereto is an assortment of galvanised steel meshing, £250 worth of Perspex panelling, 9 yards of ribbed rubber skirting, plywood slats and sheets of aluminium.
The three upper rings were carefully constructed from an order of 48 square-feet of chipboard and the crowning dome shaped with glassfibre using a concrete mould. The preponderance of hemispherical protrusions adorning the body are simply hampster playballs sprayed gold. I doubt whether the original studio Daleks incorporated such zany items but, speaking of the real article, with one being unavailable from which to work Perry took appropriate measurements from a Sevens 5:1-scale model for his lifesize example. It's pretty accurate, even down to the black 'n' gold paint scheme taken from an Emperor Dalek that appeared in the 1973 small-screen series entitled Planet of the Daleks and starring Jon Pertwee.
Riding on stock 10" Mini rims the contraption stands about 8'6" in height, though since the pics taken at the Pod these have been substituted by 12" wheels together with removal of a chunk of ballast in an endeavour to improve the choppy ride characteristics. After taking a slow haul with him up the strip to the accompaniment of a cassette tape blaring forth the repeated raucous threat "we will exterminate" over a 30watt speaker, I can only say it's a bloody good laugh.
Classed as an Austin something-or-other it bears the registration number 40 FLR, bought for a paltry £50; this alone is a steal, Perry having been subsequently offered eleven times the amount by a member of the Cherished Number Dealers' Association. Local residents would likely double the offer if it meant seeing the back of the neighbourhood eyesore, sorry landmark, but it proudly resides on the Watkins' driveway which, being in full view of the Chiltern Line trains to Marylebone, no doubt brightens many a passenger's day.
With a couple of thousand pounds and a similar number of thanks for assistance provided by Angie, Jason Sanders and Danny Curtis invested in the intergallactic device, it's insured on a third party, fire and theft (you gotta be joking) basis at an agreed replacement value of two and a half for a premium of £130. There's a restricted annual mileage clause but I feel the premium is very reasonable considering the mayhem it causes simply cruising round at subspace speeds.
Perry's sole encounter with the cops occurred when he was pulled up by PC Plod astride a pushbike and lectured about having an oversize raygun! It's not hard to picture the uproar this charge would cause in a magistrate's court. There again, what if he rolled up to face the bench dressed in a Cyberman outfit...
Oh, if you think the Dalek is endearingly dotty, just wait until Perry gets cracking on his next project. Remember the inflatable phallus that caused such an uproar on the Beastie Boys' European tour? Now try to visualise a road-going, V8-motored version. I'm serious, or rather Perry is, though I guess most straitlaced folk would be aghast at the thought of a mobile male member being let loose amidst the motoring populace...
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- APA 6th ed.: Willsheer, Andy (October 1987). Da-lekkin'. Street Machine .
- MLA 7th ed.: Willsheer, Andy. "Da-lekkin'." Street Machine [add city] October 1987. Print.
- Chicago 15th ed.: Willsheer, Andy. "Da-lekkin'." Street Machine, edition, sec., October 1987
- Turabian: Willsheer, Andy. "Da-lekkin'." Street Machine, October 1987, section, edition.
- Wikipedia (this article): <ref>{{cite news| title=Da-lekkin' | url=http://cuttingsarchive.org/index.php/Da-lekkin%27 | work=Street Machine | pages= | date=October 1987 | via=Doctor Who Cuttings Archive | accessdate=23 November 2024 }}</ref>
- Wikipedia (this page): <ref>{{cite web | title=Da-lekkin' | url=http://cuttingsarchive.org/index.php/Da-lekkin%27 | work=Doctor Who Cuttings Archive | accessdate=23 November 2024}}</ref>
