Anyway, I had a bit of a look around. The collection of cars was just a tad bizarre but at least I could rest assured about the state of the Jensen. There was a Daimler where pretty much nothing below the windows wasn't rust, a couple of wrecked Fiat 127s and a construction made of two Volkswagen Jetta front ends welded back to back. Somebody has obviously been watching too much Junkyard Wars.

There were a few nice cars, a very nice Triumph Stag, a few MGs, a really loud Mustang, and a rather nice E-type turned up later on but no sign of any Jensens. Mine was getting a bit of attention. One guy came up to me and told me his middle name was Jensen and that his parents had named him after the location of his conception. They must have been fairly athletic, but I suppose it might have been the sixties.

Anyway, after a while Jo, her mum, Nora May and Eliza arrived with Jo moaning about the entrance fee - I did say if one of them had come with me they would have gotten in for nothing. We had a bit of a mooch around the autojumble but it was the usual collection of scrap. I reckon one of these autojumbles would be a great way of getting rid of an old car and all your household rubbish. You could just turn up, empty out the boot behind the car, remove the reg plates and walk away. Nobody would know for hours and people would probably actually buy some of the junk and leave money in a box which would pay for the disposal. That is the perfect crime.

Then about 15 miles from the airport the oil light started blinking. Oh-oh. The pressure looks fine, but for safety I pulled over and popped the bonnet. The oil level is fine as far as I can judge from the hot engine. I started up again, and the light had gone out. Phew. I get out onto the road again, and the light comes on again. This is looking electrical as the pressure gauge is behaving completely normally. However, I pull over for about 20 minutes to let her cool down a bit just in case. I am a little paranoid about oil pressure as I once seized a Ford where the oil light didn't even come on as the garage had managed to mess it up.

After the 20 minutes, nothing much had changed, so I pressed on just stopping at a garage to top off with petrol and made the airport before the flight had landed. I decided to give her a good half hour to cool off so we went for a cup of tea. After giving the car a bit of a chance to cool off, I checked the oil and there was lots. So off we went with the oil-light blinking away happily. At this stage a horrible squealing noise started from the engine which could only be a belt slipping. I kept an eye on the gauges and we limped onwards. At a village called Carracastle my nerves were shot, so I just gave up and called the AA for a tow.

After 2 hour wait, along comes the guy from the AA who finds and fixes the oil light problem in five minutes - shame on me but at least I know for the next time. He refuses to tow us as he reckons the slipping belt isn't a huge issue. Probably not for him it's not, but we set off at 8:05 pm with 57 miles to go, a broken light switch and an hour until dark.

OK, this is going to be fun. I wind her up to what I think is about 70 and keep an eye on the bonnet. She is squealing like a pig, but the noise actually stops after about 5 minutes. That lasts until the next town, where slowing down sets it off again and this time it doesn't stop for about 10 minutes. After the next town, it doesn't stop at all. It is obviously the alternator belt as the voltage is beginning to drop off a bit.

It is beginning to get too dark for driving with no lights with about 30 miles to go, so I knock on the parking lights which still actually work. This gives me one sidelight and a dim tail light - just about better than nothing. I discover that the headlight flashers work but keep that one in reserve as I seriously doubt that they will stick it out for more than a few minutes continuous use. Once we cross the Shannon, I ring Jo for an escort as there is no way we can continue for more than about another 15 minutes with this lighting arrangement. She doesn't seem too happy but this might have been something to do with a roast chicken dinner that had been sitting ready for 2 hours.

When we get to Longford at about 8:45 it was fairly much gone dark and I just held down the headlamp flasher through the town in case we come across any cops. I basically had to keep the car moving to attempt to keep the fans off as battery voltage is heading for 13 Volts at this stage. This involves nipping through housing estates and across a garage forecourt. My passenger - being English - is pretty horrified at this behaviour but I explain that this is normal Irish driving behaviour. I fear my language may also have deteriorated slightly at the stage where we were stuck behind a Nissan Micra whose driver's other car was obviously a Sherman tank.

Anyway suffice it to say, we made it through Longford but at this stage we are definitely not shipshape. Voltage is below 13, the Jenny belt is screaming away and there is no sign of Jo. I have no choice but to hold the headlight flasher continuously as I can't see otherwise. With about 4 miles to go I spot a Mondeo coming towards us and flash the lights. She flashes back so I can only assume it is Jo. I have no choice but to continue. Jo catches us after another mile or so, but I can't let her pass as she has another car behind her. Anyway, we only have about 2 or 3 miles yet, so I just pray the headlight circuit will last and give it a bit of a rest on the straight bits.