 We need to weaken the mixture, by Guy Martin, read by Dean Williamson. We need to weaken the mixture. The name of this book came to me on an early morning drive to Silverstone, where I was going to race Jensen Button in a pair of William's historic Formula One cars, one of which I'd 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 a loo. My mate Gary was in the van with me. When I walked towards the service's toilet, I looked over my shoulder and told him I needed to weaken the mixture. I knew I had to because I didn't fart. I could tell by the look on his face he didn't know what I was talking about, and I'd be surprised if you did either. Like quite a lot of directions I've 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. Open it would do the same for me. The difference between us, when it comes to cod liver oil at least, is he's very much a recommended dosage kind of person. And I'm not. I'll take between seven or eight of the one a day cod liver oil capsules every day. And I'm not talking about the little M&M size capsules, no, no, no, no. The ones I take would choke an ose. 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, I would a doctor put it, very loose stools, I know I've purged the system and I need to weaken the mixture. I don't 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 carburetor's needle a notch to get back on track. That's as close to a guide to life as I have now. Don't do anything too drastic, just weaken the mixture. I've 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 a sign either of us is running too rich and we need to weaken the mixture. We've sold a fair few of the previous books, so someone must like them. I've written this one the same way I wrote, when you're dead, you're dead, and worms to catch, writing most chapters not long after what I'm describing actually happened. That means I'm 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 prose of writing books like I choose to, almost like a diary of the interesting and sometimes not so interesting stuff I do, is you're getting it straight from the horse's mouth, as it happened with no filter. The problem with that, at least from where I'm sat, is you're sometimes reading about me at my worst, when I'm annoyed, tired, mithered and ready to get back to the truckyard. You'll 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, I've been a bit harsh about some people, and sounded like a massive wanker at other times. I did think about changing it so I didn't look so bad, but that wouldn't have been the true story, so I've 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. Chapter 1 The Marabone and Cleaver There wasn't much time between finding out Kermington's pub was closing and me thinking I should buy it. I look back now and realise I bought the Marabone 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, Kermo, 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 didn't 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 didn't happen. But I was worried some... Sample complete. Ready to continue?