Thursday's match against Eastbourne at Blunsdon was always going to be under threat from the weather. Forecasts the day before had suggested showers in the early morning leading to much heavier downpours as the day went on. Evening the evening was going to be unsettled.

The clouds were already massing as I left Malmesbury and I had to pass through a couple of heavy squally before I reached the Abbey Stadium, Blunsdon.

It was a gloomy spectacle. Although there was no actual rain falling you could feel it in the air, so humid and wet was it.

Mick Richards, who cleans the fences, had another job first thing so we sent young Arron out on the newly repaired mower to cut the grass, which while dry now, would soon be too wet to cut properly.

Last week we have experimented with yet another variation of the theme entitled "How to keep the oversized banners up and secure over the air fence during a meeting."

Having first tried velcro (which failed abysmally) we then tried bungee clips. This system worked but was very time consuming to both put up and take down. And the losses of bungee clips were absurd. They hooked themselves to everything and vast numbers were lost in space as a banner was tugged free at the end of the night.

The next solution was to run a length of rope through the eyelets on the banners and stitch it through the holes in the wire safety fence. The theory was OK but the rope snagged horrendously and we soon decided to cut the length down to the equivalent of just two banners per length of rope. This worked reasonably well but more importantly, led us on to our most recent development. Lengths of rope just slightly longer than a banner, are threaded through the eyelets and knotted at each end of the banner. The banner is then fixed in place over the air bag and a hook pulls the rope down and through a hole in the safety fence where it is fixed in place with a metal pin.

So successful was this in terms of putting up, adjusting, staying up and taking down that Mark Price and I have decided to roll the system out for all banners.

It was while we were making this momentous decision that the rain came. And it came with a vengeance. Mark and I repaired to the pits while Roy, Mick and Arron sought shelter elsewhere. Punch had been joined by Mike Hunt and the two were working with Ron on a three wheeled vehicle we had been given by Terry some years previous

When the rain abated we were joined by Stan Potter, start marshal extraordinaire and tractor supremo, John Nobbs. The banners were still being cleaned by Mick as the rest of us took out the various lengths of rope and began the process of threading the eyelets. Roy Hicks, using his skills acquired as a boy scout, tied the knots and soon we had nearly three quarters of the banners sorted..

Back behind the pits the "Brains Trust" were hatching plans for the three wheeler. Since its arrival, complete with crop spraying arms and various other implements, this edifice has remained dormant, largely down to a flat battery and an even flatter front tyre.

The plan is to remove the crop spraying part for the back and replace it with a large water tank and then attach a small petrol driven pressure washer to the side. Someone will be deputed to drive the vehicle around the track while another unfortunate sits alongside on the bench seat and blasts away grime and dirt from both kickboards and air bags. At this stage of the morning the identities of the two unfortunates were unknown (at least they were to both Mark and me)!

The water tank is lowered into place and then attached firmly (using cable ties) to the vehicle. Punch cuts a steel plate to go on the side and then, with Mick's help, bolts it into place. The pressure washer will be fixed to this plate.

Hoses are measured and cut to size and a brick is attached to the end that will be lowered in to the water tank to make sure that that end is always submersed in water.

I kid you not - Heath Robinson had nothing on this venture.

The final piece of the jig saw was to get the front tyre repaired. No problem. Barry Shadwick tyres were summoned and Ron took the tyre to their workshops locally.

But the clouds were massing again and the rain just heavy enough to soak the track but not enough to drive us in.

The banners were left out on the centre green - the chances of the meeting go ahead receding by the minute. Water was pooling on the main straight and the latest forecasts suggested even more doom and gloom.

Punch was busying himself putting a parking stop on the smaller water truck that we wish to use for meetings themselves (the old Mowlex truck being far to large and bulky).

By 11.00 it was pretty clear that the meeting would have to be abandoned. The track was too heavy to walk on and the cloud cover solid. The final forecast suggested some break up on clouds by 6pm but by that time the meeting would have been impossible. The decision is made to call it off and save everyone - fans, riders, promoters etc. - the bother of turning up only to be turned away again.

But the spirit of adventure is with us and the prospects of getting the three wheeler running is almost hypnotic. Wild plans are made to cover the rather battered and eccentric body work with a fibre glass body of a Robin. We could attach poles to the wings and the wheels to give the impression off flying. We laugh at the prospect of one of us actually having to pilot this thing around in front of a speedway crowd. How we did laugh at that ... an then the laughing stopped. Why were they all looking at me? Why did Punch have a tear in his eye? Why was Ron being so nice?

And then the punctured wheel arrived back properly inflated.

stop I automatically plant my foot on a brake pedal and expect to slow down. The foot touches the brake pedal, the foot presses down on the break pedal, the foot touches the floor ... and nothing happens. Cue more hysterical laughter from the assembled hyenas!

Great ... just great. No brakes. I'm assured by Ron that it will be OK, that the weight of the machine will soon slow it down. That he is now crying with laughter hardly fills me with confidence.

Hardly daring to move at any speed greater than walking pace, I make my way round to the water tanks. It's funny how many of my erstwhile colleagues are willing to bring the pipes around and begin the filling of the water tank. It is clear that we cannot fill the tank more than half full or the whole vehicle will tip backwards. When I venture to step off it I am told to stay still - I am apparently the ballast required to keep the front end down.

With several tens of gallons of water slopping around me I engage reverse and then manoeuvre out of the water bay before driving up through the pits. At the top of the greyhound track I look down over the banking towards the white line. Ron, helpfully, informs me that he thinks I should take a slow turn to the left as I run across the track - if I turn right the whole thing might tip over. I grip the wheel so tight and move forward. As I run down the banking the water rushed back and forth behind me. Relieved beyond belief that I am still upright, I set off down the back straight, finding 2nd and then top gear. The little machine is certainly powerful and reaches a decent speed. As I approach turn 2 I automatically move my foot to the brake pedal and push it right down to the floor. The sheer intoxication of speed and led me to forget the lack of anchors! I scoot round turn 2 and 1 rather quicker than I would have liked and then make a more sedate passage back to the pits gate where, once again, my former friends are wiping away tears of laugher.

"Hey, that was so good, we could use this during grading breaks in the meetings," says Ron, handing the wand from the pressure washer to Mark Price. "Go on, go round and clean the all the kickboards and we'll time you."

So with me driving and Mark on the bench seat beside me holding the pressure washer we set off for the first set of wooden kickboards. Once again I try to press the break pedal (thought I would have twigged this by now) but the vehicle slows down sufficiently to allow Mark to clean all of the kickboards and return to the pit gate in under two minutes.

"Now," says a beaming Ron, "I want you to drive as fast as you can down the main straight to where the worst of the mud clogged banners usually are, slow down, pretend to clean them and the drive back as fast as you can, stopping to clean the three or four worst banners at this end. We'll time you."

Off we go at speed, hammering down the main straight. Foot to pedal - no response. We glide to the areas where banners are worst affected by grime and sludge, pretend to wash them down and then blast back up the back straight and repeat the exercise on turn 3.

"Brilliant," declares Ron. "That's so quick we could do that at least twice during a meeting. I tell you what, with that on track Sky wont want to cut away for an advert break during a grading."

This letter thought makes me feel so much better!

But the worst is yet to come. I have to get the machine off the track.

I engage gear and move forward up the banking and through the pit gates. Two feet from the top of the incline the engine revs die and the machine stops. Cue foot to the brake pedal and nothing again.

Slowly, ever so slowly, we begin to roll backwards. Mark contemplates leaping out but can't because the pit gates are in the way. I try to rev the machine but the weight of water is such that it just dies and we continue our journey backwards at gathering speed. Rex Woodruffe, who has just joined us, agrees with Mick Hunt, that my face was a picture to behold and what a shame it was that I still had the camera.

By the time that that reach the white line progress, albeit backward, is halted. While my pulse and blood pressure even themselves out, the rain starts again. This time I rev the engine hard, select first gear and start up the slope at pace, reaching the pit gate and the top of the greyhound track successfully ... before plunging down, out of control through the pits, making a too sharp left turn at the bottom to avoid a sudden impact with the away pits!

I assure everyone that I will not drive the edifice until there are brakes that work. I am given this assurance reluctantly. The vehicle does have the last laugh though. Just five minutes after I parked it up ... the front tyre deflated again. What a shame.

We tidied everything away in increasingly wet conditions and got away by 5pm, allowing plenty of time to get a bath out of the way before settling down in front of the telly in time for the third Prime Ministerial debate. Luxury!