That car was a hoot.
One of my tasks was to get it dirty. It had been shipped back from Mexico and the Engineering Crew thought it a great idea to wash and polish it as they would any of the press cars. But this was wanted for showroom display, in 'as returned' condition, so I had to seek out ways to get it as filthy as possible, even though it was mid-summer.
Taking it to the Phantom Coach one lunchtime at fairly anti-social speeds we caught up with a police car on the Fletchamstead Highway. Discretion decreed that overtaking him was not a good plan so I pulled in behind him, allowing five or six car lengths.
Which was fine until the mega-powerful air horns on the Triumph came to life with a loud and lengthy blast. I frantically looked at the horn ring, hands were well clear, but to be sure I pulled on it to no effect, except shortly after there came a second blast. I started to drop back, but he also slowed. Then a third. I was frantic. I turned to the Exhibition Controller in the passenger seat to see if he had any ideas, at which point I noticed he was smirking.
There was, of course, a foot-operated horn for the co-driver's use.
I also had the 2,.5 for some wholly spurious trip to Liverpool at a time when the factory was on strike, so I could not have the car refuelled at the works pumps. Engineering offered me a chit for the local filling station. "How much will you need?" they asked. "It's a long trip, you'd better make the chit for 'full tank' " I hopefully suggested. "Sure" said the foreman, signing the chit with a flourish.
I have no idea how much fuel the two, long-range tanks actually held, but it was sufficient for the guy in the filling station to start peering underneath the car to check there was no gushing fuel finding its way to his forecourt.
Rob P