The Bells Have Made Me Deaf

Mike Andrews

No idea who he is… just liked the tune.

Finally got the van going again. It’s been annoying having it sit there in the yard with a full tank of fuel and not be able to go anywhere. After much chugging and some strange smoke appearing from who knows where it finally got enough fuel to kick… there was a primer pump thingyjig that saved a whole load of hassle if only I had known it was there I may not have been wheel-less for this long. Having said that… the battery needed some help via jump leads to keep up with demand.

Sunday is not a good day to go for a drive around the peninsula… the world and it’s granny like to go driving around the coast in the sunshine on a Sunday but my battery being somewhat flat with all the effort of getting it started, a run was required. An eye opening journey of discovery it turned out to be too.

Somebody built a tower house on the edge of Cloughey and called it Kirkistown Castle. I dont believe that I never noticed it before. It’s been chalked on my imaginary board of places to go gaup at and steep in the atmosphere. Also had a nosey at a house to let in Portavogie… right on the beach. It’s incredibly tempting. With three months to go until the end of my lease, it would be a miracle if it’s still available by then.

I got the urge for going today when I was caught up in a scuffle between the neighbours unruley dog and my own. Ended up with teeth marks on my right leg. I have, yet again, asked them nicely to keep their animals under control. I’m sick of being attacked by their brainless red setter as is the postman and everyone else who happens to come here…

Another fun site… change your pics to text.

Text-Image.com

This one has been done for firefox so if it’s squiffy in anything else…
it’s time you changed browsers!

So after a gruelling week of going nowhere and working till all hours, I slept late today and had one of those brunchy kind of breakfasts although it’s still breaking fast so therefore still breakfast regardless that it might be 2pm when you sit down to partake thereof. It’s the all day breakfast syndrome although most of those cafes that provide such a service only call it breakfast because of the content of the meal. Big Ulster Fry or the like being considered fit for breakfast. I can never remember that being the norm in our house. It was a rushed bowl of cereal and maybe a bit of toast if you were lucky. Cooked breakfast was a weekend thing. No chance of heart attacks if you only do it once a week.

On peeling my orange, I found it to be a blood one. It’s been a long time since I had one of those by chance. They’re as rare as hens teeth… or even double yolk eggs. What’s the matter with hens these days? Well… other than being couped up in tiny cages so they cant move and have to breath in the fumes of their own crap all day every day… it’s a wonder they lay anything at all. At least the free range girls get out for a stroll. Having worked briefly with battery chucks for a few months… I was converted long since to the free range type of egg production and always buy the same. Even free range is lacking in the big double yolkers that used to be a regular thing. They all get fed the same stuff regardless. Likely as not some greed inspired chemical in the feed to make the yolk more yellow and keep them single. No more lucky chicks with a double dose of dinner.

I’ll never forget the cages full of little yellow fluffy mites who just had their beaks trimmed in a guillotine with a hot blade. A barbarian at the controls stuck the beak in… chop… then threw the little bird into a huge cardboard box. The trauma of being handled that way was enough to kill off a number of them before they made it back to the cages. It really wasn’t the job for me. < /ramble>

Yesterday was the day to get the fuel tank off the ground and bracketed back into position. My 68 year old father played the role of mechanic while I was mechanics assistant. It wasn’t that hard a job for me since all I did was spray WD40 on everything that came within range and made sure the motor didn’t coup onto me Da while he lay grunting underneath getting dirt in his eyes and furiously ratcheting a bolt that seemed to have an infinite thread. Couldn’t use the ramps since the fuel was all lying in the dipped end of the tank on the ground and refused to be sucked up into the engine. So two jacks it was. One to jack up the van the other to jack up the tank. Ramps propped under the hubs … just in case the main jack wobbled off on the cobbles.

All done and dusted. Dinner was the next essential. Once fed, we went out to try churning the engine over. Sure enough… it churned and churned but didn’t fire. Something about a diesel getting air locked and needing bled. For some reason we tried jump leads which obviously didn’t work since the problem was a lack of fuel. It was too dark to see by then where to bleed or pump or whatever and the neighbours youngsters were long since in bed so too much noise was out of the question. Everything echoes around the yard.

I’m still none the wiser and stranded… maybe I should google it. How to bleed an antique diesel in one easy lesson.