Today will go down in history as the day Mr Perkins received his new injector studs. He didn’t have much fight in him to be fair, just enough so that Franky will have to come back in a day or two to finish the job, but the damage that the years of running with parts that did not quite do the job have extracted a toll. It seems for now he’s dodged a bullet once again, but we’ve put up posters of recycling plants in his engine bay as a reminder of what happens to old horses that give up.
I do know how he feels though. All of the fancy new electrical things arrived at the parcel pickup point yesterday, which in itself was fantastic, but an extra five thousand steps on cobbles felt like a million the next day to aged knees.
Those same knees doth protest a bit when told to invert themselves and haul a near two metre long body with gangly arms into a cupboard for the day to get on with the installation of all those shiny parts. They sent messages to elbows and fingers to try to convince them that enough was enough, but the brain to which it sends those messages refused to play their silly games until the job was done. This was a little foolish, but a paracetamol sandwich for lunch did it's bit towards getting the job done.
In the afternoon, the body and it’s attached brain which when all is said and done is twice the age of Mr Perkins, (and we all know what allowances we make for him) was greatly tired, but looked on in self admiration at the tidiness, yea, inventiveness of the day’s labour. Will anyone else marvel at that bracket carved out of a scrap of metal that conceals the wiring within the spotlight? Of course they will, he’ll tell the internet!
It is splendid it thinks, quite satisfying, or as Shakespeare might say, honorificabilitudintatibus even.
Now we wait for the response from customer support to figure out why it doesn’t work, and whether we’ve overdone that thing that comes before a fall.
1 comment
: ) ... as I stop and make time to read your stories.
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