“Did I say I would come today?” said the SMS we received just before lunch.
“No, I replied, you said you MAY be here!” and added one of those smiley faces to indicate my happy ambivalence.
“OK, I’ll see you in an hour or so,” and before we knew it, like some sort of un-caped superhero, Duncan had arrived with his fix-it bag.
At first, while looking from the same perspective that we were viewing the problem he was completely unable at all to find the cause of the injector pump leak and seemed as perplexed as we were about its source, but then he changed his viewpoint.
Travelling through Mongolia a few years ago, we attended a performance by some arts students. One act comprised a young girl who could bend in ways that seemed to defy the natural order of things. At one point she was balancing on one hand with both knees backwards behind her head, scratching her nose with a big toe. My eyes were watering so badly at the thought of all those disconnected limbs that I never did figure out where her other arm had gone.
This was all very entertaining of course, but we were at a loss as to what practical purpose those skills could be utilised until today. She was obviously in training to be a Perkins Marine Technician.
Duncan managed to make himself smaller and more contorted that even she, crawling into spaces that a flattened gecko would be hard pressed to reach. How he managed to hold his composure while upside down with his head stuck between the exhaust manifold and the starter motor, at the same time trying to find a loose nut with a mirror and a torch while holding a screwdriver and a spanner is not something that I can comprehend. When occasionally he called for a different spanner, as with the girl in Mongolia I had some difficulty finding the necessary appendage to place it in, and when I did invariably I had to reassure myself that it was still attached to its limb.
It was both fascinating to watch and disappointing really. Fascinating, because he managed to sort the problem out without having to remove any engine component, and he actually managed to extract himself without incident. Disappointing, because I freely admit to listening very intently to see if I could improve my vocabulary in French, but not one word was uttered.
Like some grand zen master he somehow concentrated the pain into bolt tightening effort and magically left our Mr Perkins ticking away once again like that terribly expensive (guaranteed to work under a film of diesel) Swiss Watch.
No comments
Post a Comment