Tag Archives: Britain

Rats Are Waging War on Britain’s Cars

Your car alarm won’t help. Neither will a steering lock. The most destructive thieves currently targeting Britain’s vehicles are silent, tireless, and about six inches long.

Across the UK, a surge in rodent activity is turning modern cars into expensive chew toys. Insurance giant Aviva reports that between 2023 and 2024, claims for rat- and mouse-related vehicle damage jumped 28 percent, while the average repair bill climbed to £2,494. In other words: rodents aren’t just stealing crumbs anymore—they’re stealing your paycheck.

Winter is when things get ugly. As temperatures drop, mice and rats hunt for warmth, and today’s cars are basically rolling heated apartments. Grilles, air vents, and even half-open windows offer easy access. Once inside, rodents go straight for the good stuff.

“Chewing wires, gnawing interiors, nesting in engines,” explains Aviva motor claims manager James Driscoll. “They can cause significant damage.”

That damage is no joke. Ask the unlucky owner of a Porsche Cayenne who called in pest controller Tony Smith. A single rat destroyed the SUV’s wiring harness, triggering a £7,000 repair bill. That’s not nibbling—that’s financial assault.

Smith, who runs All Aspects Pest Control in Reading, says the rat population is now “out of control,” and modern cars are making the problem worse. The culprit? Bioplastics used in wiring insulation. Designed to be eco-friendly, these soy-based materials apparently taste fantastic to rats.

It’s like swapping steel for spaghetti.

Garages across the country are now dealing with rodent wreckage on a routine basis. At Ravenscroft Motors in Fleet, Hampshire, Lewis Devin tells stories that sound like rejected Pixar scripts.

A Ford Ranger needed a £200 repair after rodents damaged its transmission harness—then came back the next week with the exact same problem. Another car had its cooling fan jammed by nuts a squirrel had carefully stored between the blades. Foam engine covers? Eaten. Wiring looms? Shredded. Somewhere, a rat is driving a better-equipped car than you.

The scale of the problem is massive. Between 2023 and mid-2025, UK councils logged roughly half a million rodent-related incidents. The British Pest Control Association says more than half its members have seen rat callouts rise in the past five years.

And here’s the real twist: there’s not much anyone can do.

Permanent poison baiting is illegal because it threatens other wildlife, including endangered field mice. And rats, Smith says, are too smart for their own good. They avoid unfamiliar substances, meaning even when poison is used, it’s often ignored.

So Britain’s drivers are stuck in an expensive stalemate with nature—owning vehicles filled with soy-based wiring that smells like dinner to the local wildlife, while pest controllers are legally hamstrung from stopping the feast.

The modern automobile has become quieter, cleaner, and more efficient.

Unfortunately, it’s also become delicious.

If you ever hear scratching behind the dashboard, don’t panic. Just remember: it’s probably not a mechanical fault.

It’s just a rat calculating how much of your wiring harness it can afford to eat today.

Source: Autocar; Photo: Shutterstock

Bluebird Aero: How a Jet-Powered Featherweight Is Chasing Britain’s Next Speed Record

There’s something deeply British about trying to go absurdly fast in something that looks like it escaped from a kid’s downhill derby. The Bluebird Aero is exactly that kind of beautifully unhinged machine: a jet-powered, composite-tubbed, 47-kilogram projectile built by a tiny team of engineers who think 100 mph is a reasonable target for something that barely weighs more than a sack of cement.

This is not a car in the way we normally use the word. It has no engine in the traditional sense, no drivetrain, no gears, and no illusions about being practical. It’s a land-speed record weapon, inspired by the legendary Bluebird machines of Malcolm and Donald Campbell, scaled down to soapbox size but infused with aerospace thinking.

At the center of it all is Russell Annison, a veteran of the Bloodhound land-speed-record project and a former Lola wind-tunnel specialist. Alongside CAD wizard and driver Matt Sadler and brakes guru Adam Rogers, Annison has created something that looks simple but is anything but. The Aero’s carbon-fiber and aluminum-honeycomb monocoque traces its lineage directly back to a Lola gravity racer built for the Goodwood Festival of Speed in 2013. That car was all about minimal drag, and the Aero inherits that obsession.

With a drag coefficient of just 0.22 and an ultra-small frontal area, the Bluebird Aero cheats the air like a racing bullet. Which is a good thing, because its propulsion comes from something equally ridiculous: a 2.8-kilogram gas-turbine jet engine built by JetCat, a German firm better known for powering radio-controlled model aircraft. Spinning at up to 123,000 rpm and delivering 17 kilograms of thrust, the little turbine fires a 700-mph jet stream out the back. It’s loud, violent, and wildly inappropriate—and that’s the point.

In May 2024, Annison strapped himself into the Aero and set a record at 55 mph for a prototype dual-propulsion electric-and-jet vehicle. Even more impressive than the number was the way it got there: the car was still accelerating after the jet was shut down, proof that the aero efficiency is doing some of the heavy lifting.

Now the team wants nearly double the speed. With new 3D-printed dive planes increasing front-end downforce under braking, Annison believes the power is already there for a near-100-mph run. The real enemies now are stability and tires. Yes—tires. The Aero currently rides on Schwalbe bicycle rubber, which is very good at being round but not so great at being asked to survive speeds normally reserved for highway traffic.

Under the skin, the Aero is an engineering jewel box. The bicycle-sourced disc brakes are water-spray cooled. The fuel tank is a bespoke welded aluminum unit. The low-pressure fuel system is designed specifically to reduce fire risk in what is, essentially, a rolling jet engine wrapped in carbon fiber.

If everything aligns, the team hopes to make another run in May—exactly two years after their last record. That timing isn’t accidental. It would coincide with the long-awaited return of Donald Campbell’s restored Bluebird K7 jet hydroplane to Coniston Water, the site of his fatal 1967 attempt to exceed 300 mph. In other words, it would be a week where British speed history gets a very loud encore.

But the Bluebird Aero isn’t just about one team grabbing one number. Annison wants to turn this into a competition. His goal is to challenge students and young engineers to build their own rival micro-record cars and go after the mark. The Aero itself already travels to schools as a rolling STEM ambassador—a 100-mph physics lesson with a jet engine.

In an era when the car industry is increasingly about software, subscriptions, and sterile efficiency, the Bluebird Aero is a reminder of something more visceral: speed as a pure engineering problem. How light can you go? How clean can you slice the air? And how fast can you make something that, on paper, shouldn’t even exist?

A 100-mph soapbox shouldn’t make sense. That’s exactly why it does.

Source: Autocar

Ringbrothers Just Redefined What a British Muscle Car Could Be

Ringbrothers has always operated in that sweet spot between genius and mild lunacy—the place where creativity flourishes because nobody stops to ask whether something is sensible. The Wisconsin-based brothers, Jim and Mike Ring, built their reputation turning American muscle cars into carbon-fiber fever dreams that somehow still drive like cars rather than science projects. They started with an autobody shop. They stayed with an autobody shop. And then, almost accidentally, they became the most interesting restomod builders on the planet.

So when one half of the duo showed up at The Quail during Monterey Car Week standing next to a radically reimagined Aston Martin DBS, it felt less like a left turn and more like destiny finally catching up.

Meet “Octavia.” No, not a Škoda—though apparently the name caused a mild tightening of legal neckties somewhere in Europe. This is Ringbrothers’ vision of what Aston Martin’s early-1970s DBS might have been if it were raised on cheeseburgers, superchargers, and a steady diet of American V-8 thunder.

“We’ve combined the ferocity of American muscle with the stiff upper lip of English sophistication,” Mike Ring says, deadpan but clearly delighted. “Octavia is beyond anything we’ve built before.”

That’s not marketing fluff. This thing is unhinged in the most deliberate way.

Googling Their Way to James Bond

The origin story is peak Ringbrothers. A local client—described as “super cool,” which in Ring-speak usually means extremely patient and financially brave—asked a simple question: What do you guys want to build?

The answer, apparently, came from a Google search.

“We literally Googled ‘European muscle car,’” Mike admits. “A DBS was at the top, and we’re like, yeah dude, we want to do James Bond.”

Within a week, the owner bought a non-running 1971 DBS off Bring a Trailer. Ringbrothers had never seen one in person. That didn’t slow them down. If anything, it emboldened them.

“They’re so flat-sided,” Mike says. “Straight away we knew we had to put some booty on the back.”

Carbon Fiber, Not Rivets

“Some booty” turned into ten inches of added width. The finished car measures a staggering 82 inches wide at the rear and 78 inches up front—roughly modern supercar territory and not far off a Lamborghini Revuelto for sheer presence.

The difference is execution. This isn’t a bolt-on widebody with exposed fasteners and wishful thinking. Every panel was designed in CAD and formed entirely in carbon fiber. The proportions stay intact, the surfacing flows, and the car somehow looks more Aston than the original while being dramatically more aggressive.

“It still looks balanced,” Mike says—and annoyingly, he’s right.

From CAD screen to finished car took roughly two and a half years, with about a year of actual assembly once parts began arriving. The original DBS shell didn’t survive in any recognizable sense. Ringbrothers stripped it down, bonded the body together, and turned what remained into—yes—a martini bar.

“It’s a James Bond thing,” Mike shrugs. “We got to serve martinis.”

Forget the Straight-Six

Purists, look away now.

Octavia does not run an Aston engine. Not even close. Early conversations with Aston Martin didn’t go anywhere—Ringbrothers is refreshingly candid about that—so they pivoted to what they know best.

Enter Ford’s 5.0-liter Coyote V-8, topped with a 2.65-liter supercharger and good for 805 horsepower. It’s bolted to a six-speed manual gearbox and sends power exclusively to the rear wheels, because of course it does.

“The last thing we want to do is build something we can’t make run,” Mike says. “We’re not engineers.”

That statement becomes increasingly hilarious the longer you look at the rest of the car.

The drivetrain lives in a bespoke chassis with the wheelbase stretched by 76 millimeters. A full structural roll cage is integrated into the body. There’s independent rear suspension, C7 Corvette sway bars, Fox Racing dampers, and Brembo brakes. This is not a hot rod pretending to be a grand tourer—it’s a genuinely serious piece of hardware wearing a Savile Row suit.

Coke-Bottle Bond Villain Energy

The design work was led by Gary Ragle, with what Ringbrothers describes as “echoes” of William Towns’ original DBS shape buried in the final form. The goal was “Coke-bottle curvature,” and they nailed it. The car looks taut, muscular, and vaguely menacing, like a Bond villain’s personal transport after an intense off-screen gym montage.

Inside, the madness continues—tastefully. Carbon fiber, stainless steel, and leather dominate, with subtle (and not-so-subtle) nods to 007 lore. The standout? A dipstick handle shaped like a martini glass. Shaken, presumably, not stirred.

The Cost of Doing It Because You Want To

As for the price, Mike won’t give a number. Not because he’s being coy—but because he genuinely doesn’t seem to know.

“We’re trying to sell another one so we can spread the cost a bit,” he says. “It was quite expensive.”

That might be the understatement of the week. The raw stainless steel for the exhaust tips alone cost $1,000. A first quote for four pieces of glass came in at $92,000. That’s not a typo.

Still, Ringbrothers isn’t interested in efficiency, scalability, or anything else you’d find in a business-school case study.

“If I had to build the same car over and over, I wouldn’t be doing it,” Mike says. “I’d lose interest. If it was all about money, I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing.”

Why Ringbrothers Matters

That’s the secret sauce. Ringbrothers doesn’t chase trends or algorithms or easy wins. They chase curiosity. Every project is an extension of their taste, their humor, and their willingness to learn by doing—sometimes publicly, sometimes expensively.

Mike doesn’t see himself as an artist. He sees himself as lucky. Lucky to work with his wife. Lucky that his son is now involved in the machining side. Lucky to keep building cars simply because he wants to.

“I don’t want to retire,” he says. “This is what I’d do if I was retired.”

Octavia isn’t just a spectacular Aston Martin restomod. It’s a manifesto—proof that the best automotive creations still come from people who care more about having fun than getting rich.

They’re not curing cancer, as Mike puts it. They’re just building ridiculously cool cars.

And honestly? The world needs more of that.

Source: TopGear