Come on Fred and Barney,
You’re being a bit mean with your photo’s, get the old ladder out, up in the loft and dig out some more snaps of back in the day…
Better still send someone younger up for you. 
Have a good week.
Mick
PanX:
Come on Fred and Barney,
You’re being a bit mean with your photo’s, get the old ladder out, up in the loft and dig out some more snaps of back in the day…
Better still send someone younger up for you.Have a good week.
Mick
Hi Mick - I’ve put lots of photo’s on here, have a delve back through the thread from about pages 70’ish when I first joined, I don’t think I have any more interesting ones unless you would like to see a pic of me doing a ‘Jobby’ under the back axle, anyway after I have had my pill and Complan I might venture up into the archives, the thread has gone a bit quiet lately and the lads have run out of material and are holding back on the sensitive adventures and don’t want to embarrass us, when I look at the bottom of the page to see who is on line I realise that there are regular visitors who never seem to contribute, so you lot get some material going - regards Fred 
Cold Up North:
Does anybody know anything about this ERF C series?0
It’s a left ■■■■■■ with what looks like Arabian or at least Middle Eastern plates.
David
Yeah I know that, I was wondering how it got to the M/E and if any of the guys on here might have taken it down or if it was supplied direct as an export model.
PS, someone has bought it and os bringing it back to the UK to restore.
Ok Fred as requested Yester year and today, that is my youngest son with me. Definitely a chip off the old block, camera angle makes me look small but we are the same height. Honestly I haven’t shrunk that much 
Teherani:
Ok Fred as requested Yester year and today, that is my youngest son with me. Definitely a chip off the old block, camera angle makes me look small but we are the same height. Honestly I haven’t shrunk that much
Hi Barney. Truly terrific photo’s mate, you have not changed apart from having your hair removed, I don’t know how long ago that was taken but you are certainly looking well and that is the outcome of chasing old ladies - what could you do if you caught one ? and what is that in your right hand, is someone standing behind you ? be lucky, regards Fred and the management.
freshir:
PanX:
Come on Fred and Barney,
You’re being a bit mean with your photo’s, get the old ladder out, up in the loft and dig out some more snaps of back in the day…
Better still send someone younger up for you.Have a good week.
Mick
[/quoteHi Mick - I’ve put lots of photo’s on here, have a delve back through the thread from about pages 70’ish when I first joined, I don’t think I have any more interesting ones unless you would like to see a pic of me doing a ‘Jobby’ under the back axle, anyway after I have had my pill and Complan I might venture up into the archives, the thread has gone a bit quiet lately and the lads have run out of material and are holding back on the sensitive adventures and don’t want to embarrass us, when I look at the bottom of the page to see who is on line I realise that there are regular visitors who never seem to contribute, so you lot get some material going - regards Fred
Hi Guys Thanks for some putting on some more photo’s … yes your right Fred no one wants to see anything to do with back axles or anything of a sensitive adventure. I am off delving into posts past… keep up the good work.
Mick
Hi Mick, The following script is from a book called Roadtrip Ramatuelle. It mentions a M. Butler; is it you? Can you remember any thing about trans-shipping a Baghdad load at the Harem Hotel in Istanbul?
Sunday was spent lazing around in the sunshine with a visit to the Harem Hotel in the evening. When Monday brought no news of any unloading, the rest of the day took the same pattern. However, after our evening Ef-es at the Harem, we returned to find two more British lorries on the park. Now we were five, all with the same agent, the same load and the same problem. The new arrivals: Ron Derrick and Mick Butler, were very much from the “Job’s fked, let’s go on the ps” school of lorry driving. So, after Mr Suliman, the agent, came with no news of our unloading, we all went for a beer. From the Harem Hotel, we then went across the Bosphorus to the Pudding Shop and sat, drinking Ef-es all afternoon. Eventually the topic of conversation turned to women and Turkish women in particular.
“Pigale is the place to go for a Turkish girl,” said Mick.
“Is that Pigale or Pig Alley?” asked Dave.
“Pigale, Pig Alley, it’s all the same, a load of old dogs, the lot of them,” slurred Mick.
“So you’ve been and had a look then?” questioned Roy.
“Yeah, course I have. It doesn’t cost anything to get in. There’s a whole street of houses, all with dozens of girls in the windows. You just take your pick,” tempted Mick.
“A bit like the Red Light district in Amsterdam?” asked Dave.
“No, nothing like it,” replied Mick.
“So you’ve been there too,” taunted Roy.
“Let’s get a taxi and go over there. Then you can see for yourselves. It’s somewhere to go. It’s boring in here,” suggested Ron.
All five of us squeezed into a taxi which then sped off across Istanbul in the fading light of the evening. Fumes from the traffic hung in the warm, still air as our cab spun its front wheels furiously attempting the steep slope to our destination. With six of us in the four-door saloon, the weight was too much for the incline. We offered to get out and walk the final 50 yards, but he driver would not let gravity beat him; he screamed the engine and smoked the tyres on the cobbles as we inched slowly uphill. Our driver finally gave up when Ron and Mick got out and walked ahead, while the speedo was reading 25 kph.
Pig Alley was different from any other street in Istanbul in so far as it had an eight-foot high corrugated metal fence across both ends. A narrow doorway through the barrier was guarded by two policemen and was the only public entrance or exit. At the time of our visit, the place was crowded with loads of women in the shops and plenty of men on the roadway, although there seemed to be little business taking place. Very few of the men were Europeans, while not many seemed to be Turks. Many were from Iran, Iraq and other Gulf states, with a few Pakistanis, stopping off while travelling overland to and from western European. The women came in all sizes and ages, but most wore black, mini-skirts and white blouses. There were plenty to look at, as we five drivers discussed what would be our choice. There was an atmosphere similar to what you would find when a load of kids visit a chocolate factory. Personally, I had drunk far too much strong lager to protest when one of the girls pulled me out of the crowd and led me into her house of disrepute.
freshir:
Teherani:
Ok Fred as requested Yester year and today, that is my youngest son with me. Definitely a chip off the old block, camera angle makes me look small but we are the same height. Honestly I haven’t shrunk that muchHi Barney. Truly terrific photo’s mate, you have not changed apart from having your hair removed, I don’t know how long ago that was taken but you are certainly looking well and that is the outcome of chasing old ladies - what could you do if you caught one ? and what is that in your right hand, is someone standing behind you ? be lucky, regards Fred and the management.
The pic with my son was taken a week ago, and darn I forgot about my P bottle lol 
ChrisArbon:
Hi Mick, The following script is from a book called Roadtrip Ramatuelle. It mentions a M. Butler; is it you? Can you remember any thing about trans-shipping a Baghdad load at the Harem Hotel in Istanbul?Sunday was spent lazing around in the sunshine with a visit to the Harem Hotel in the evening. When Monday brought no news of any unloading, the rest of the day took the same pattern. However, after our evening Ef-es at the Harem, we returned to find two more British lorries on the park. Now we were five, all with the same agent, the same load and the same problem. The new arrivals: Ron Derrick and Mick Butler, were very much from the “Job’s fked, let’s go on the ps” school of lorry driving. So, after Mr Suliman, the agent, came with no news of our unloading, we all went for a beer. From the Harem Hotel, we then went across the Bosphorus to the Pudding Shop and sat, drinking Ef-es all afternoon. Eventually the topic of conversation turned to women and Turkish women in particular.
“Pigale is the place to go for a Turkish girl,” said Mick.
“Is that Pigale or Pig Alley?” asked Dave.
“Pigale, Pig Alley, it’s all the same, a load of old dogs, the lot of them,” slurred Mick.
“So you’ve been and had a look then?” questioned Roy.
“Yeah, course I have. It doesn’t cost anything to get in. There’s a whole street of houses, all with dozens of girls in the windows. You just take your pick,” tempted Mick.
“A bit like the Red Light district in Amsterdam?” asked Dave.
“No, nothing like it,” replied Mick.
“So you’ve been there too,” taunted Roy.
“Let’s get a taxi and go over there. Then you can see for yourselves. It’s somewhere to go. It’s boring in here,” suggested Ron.
All five of us squeezed into a taxi which then sped off across Istanbul in the fading light of the evening. Fumes from the traffic hung in the warm, still air as our cab spun its front wheels furiously attempting the steep slope to our destination. With six of us in the four-door saloon, the weight was too much for the incline. We offered to get out and walk the final 50 yards, but he driver would not let gravity beat him; he screamed the engine and smoked the tyres on the cobbles as we inched slowly uphill. Our driver finally gave up when Ron and Mick got out and walked ahead, while the speedo was reading 25 kph.
Pig Alley was different from any other street in Istanbul in so far as it had an eight-foot high corrugated metal fence across both ends. A narrow doorway through the barrier was guarded by two policemen and was the only public entrance or exit. At the time of our visit, the place was crowded with loads of women in the shops and plenty of men on the roadway, although there seemed to be little business taking place. Very few of the men were Europeans, while not many seemed to be Turks. Many were from Iran, Iraq and other Gulf states, with a few Pakistanis, stopping off while travelling overland to and from western European. The women came in all sizes and ages, but most wore black, mini-skirts and white blouses. There were plenty to look at, as we five drivers discussed what would be our choice. There was an atmosphere similar to what you would find when a load of kids visit a chocolate factory. Personally, I had drunk far too much strong lager to protest when one of the girls pulled me out of the crowd and led me into her house of disrepute.
No Chris, definately not me. I worked with Micky Butler for quite a while, lost touch with Mick about 1992. Hope he’s well.
Hi all, I would like to make a mention for BOBBY POWER who passed away last Monday after a long illness, he had been in the game for many years with Charlie Ward and Concorde Express, Bobby was from Southern Ireland originally although he lived with his family in Hayes Middx: he was one of the nicest people that anyone could ever wish to know, RIP my old mate, you will never be forgotten in my household
Regards to all - FRED 
Dont recall Bobby, but condolences to friends and family, open the gates let another Trucker in the Truckstop in the sky R.I.P
Loose-wire:
Dont recall Bobby, but condolences to friends and family, open the gates let another Trucker in the Truckstop in the sky R.I.P
RIP mate one of the best
Loose-wire:
Dont recall Bobby, but condolences to friends and family, open the gates let another Trucker in the Truckstop in the sky R.I.P
R.I.P Mr Power 
Gaz
A wag and drag for the old cogers to keep their hand in?
Is anyone still doing M/E or has it all died a death with all the troubles?