Legends from our own lunchtimes

Monday, June 09, 2014

A Patch of Blue
Lagarde to Niderviller

That patch of blue in the picture is the sky, viewed from within the bowels of Mr Perkins’ and therefore our own Nemesis, the great lock at Rechicourt.  We knew from the outset today that if we could pass through its jaws and rise to the top, things would work out just fine.

But let’s look at our plan for the day in the simplest of terms:  “Get out of bed and leave for a few days cruising”.

This quickly became “Perhaps we should do a load of washing first” to which was added “ and we should have a look at that leak in the cooling system” and then “perhaps a slight adjustment to Mr P’s idle speed”, followed by “and maybe we should sort out our phone once and for all”.

The lovely young lady from the phone company kept me pleasantly occupied for well over an hour as she valiantly failed to solve the problem.  She was, it must be said truly impressed and more than a little intrigued after her general enquiries had led her to understand that we were “retired”, with the Information Technology skills exhibited by the writer.   She was even more impressed to know that I had somehow managed to keep a genuine some may say even retro iPhone 3Gs going and became quite gushy in her praise, even comparing me to her “Gran”, who apparently needs a good deal of help just to answer a telephone let alone put a sim card in one.

While it was indeed a pleasant morning's conversation, perhaps it would have been more pleasant had we parted ways with a fully functioning telephone instead of one with a few Euros complimentary credit “to get us by”.   

It could probably go without saying that it came to be lunchtime before we actually got away, which thankfully still allowed seven hours of uninterrupted navigation time, which we were to use to the full.   

I am not sure if it was fear as we approached Rechicourt got to him or if it was a genetic reaction of the kind that dogs exhibit when they roll themselves in fresh poo after a bath, but whatever it was, Mr P managed to pop a plug and spray himself and his carefully polished surrounds with engine oil after the first couple of hours.

After a little mopping up and a hose clamp securing the miscreant part, the background smell of warm oil, though faint, was vaguely reassuring as we all sat quietly in the very late evening watching our first proper cruising sunset.

The old team is back.


1 comment

Joan Elizabeth said...

I love my 3GS. You can imagine what mirth it causes where I work.

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