piston broke

Happy New Year to all.

This is Right Hand Drive Man in Cold Southampton (yes, it's been snowing even here). You don't have to read all this but I need to get it off my chest.

Well, what an exciting Christmas! Having broken my finger in the early hours of Christmas morning, whilst attempting to plant a Christmas tree in its plastic pot, I set off to see my sister in hospital in Chichester. Driving the D down the M27 was a sheer delight as the sunwas out, the roads were clear and the car had started first go.

Having visited my sister, and stopped off in casualty to have my finger x-rayed and strapped up, I headed back hopefully towards Southampton for a traditional Christmas lunch. Admittedly I was a bit late, but I felt confident that, with the car having been running fine on the way down,and with the engine nicely warmed up, I could use a reasonable part of its potential to hurry along the journey. Cornering fast round Chichester's wide open roundabouts was great fun, and the turbo produced that lovely whine when exercised above 3500 revs. What few cars there were on the road I passed with ease and I felt their envious looks as I sailed past. I wasn't sure of my speed, because the speedo doesn't work, but I simply multiply the revs by a factor of 0.02 and subtract a bit and I'm sure that's close enough.

Imagine my surprise when I looked in the mirror and sawwhat I took to be fog. At first it seemed odd that the fog was so localised, being behind me but not in front nor to the sides. The awful truth dawned on me that I was afire. I understand that wartime bomber pilots in these circumstances used to dive, to try to blow the fire out, and I momentarily considered an equivalent option, or even of driving off the road straight into the adjacent sea, but a handy lay-by seemed a good first step. As I stopped I saw the cars which I had so recently passed saunter by with their drivers' looks of envy strangely changed to ones that approached smugness. Upon opening the engine compartment I was greeted with a large splattering of black oil and some flames issuing from the left hand side.

After initially feeling that the only thing I could do was unleash my bladder on it (I was prepared to risk burns to my nether regions, but the trouble is you can never go just when you want to) I am pleased to report that the Delorean Owners Club duster, of which I have been so proud, came to the rescue. I soaked it in a nearby puddle of filthy water and thrust it down into the flames where there was a great resultant sizzling and steaming. It didn't do any good to my broken finger and its bandage (Don't get it wet, said the nurse - but she said nothing about getting it covered in oil) nor to my smart Christmas shirt. The shirt would have had to have been the next soaking object to go into the flames, followed presumably by my trousers, had I not found a bucket and old rags in the rubbish in the lay-by. (The 'rags' later turned out to be a pair of boxer shorts, with certain stains upon them. Think, why else would they be abandoned in a bucket in a lay-by?) Putting hygienic considerations aside I successfully doused all the flames and smoke and managed to clean up the engine.

I replaced the oil filler cap, which, as you have probably guessed, had blown off, let the engine cool a bit, and let my heart rate settle down. As I couldn't see any damage I started up the car and watched it for a while until I was sure it wasn't going to repeat the conflagration trick and headed slowly back to Southampton. I had, however, a rather smoky exhaust.

My garage now says there is no compression in one cylinder so I guess it has a piston with a hole in it. They are preparing to takethe engine out and set about repairing whatever damage has occurred. Does anyone have any advice for taking the engine out, getting engine parts, and doing any other jobs whilst it's out? In particular, I am concerned that the engine may have been modified to take the turbo, possibly by fitting different pistons, which may not be easy to identify. Any hints wouldbe welcome, or even sympathy and encouragement. My garage mechanics are specialised in Renault engines, though they keep pointing out how old this one is.

I got my Christmas lunch at 9 o'clock in the evening.

I feel a severe pain in the wallet coming on, and it's not a good time of year.

Tony Lawther

Southampton