Going Equipped

homeward
Originally uploaded by Lillput

The journey should have been simple enough.

Cambridge via Victoria coach station for ma, Victoria coach station and return in a day for me.

Yeah, yeah, the weather was always going to be a risk. That's the very reason I wore my new mids and my proper outdoor jacket with fleece lining and took a change of clothes and a toothbrush. There was always going to be a possbility of an overnight stop in a service station on the M4 or something like that.

I hadn't expected quite the delay going out though.

So, a journey to London that should have taken a bit over two hours took well over four, scuppering connections to Cambridge for ma and a speedy return to Bristol for me.

S offered accomodation in Hitchin if required, having had his weekend plans altered by the weather. As much as I love S's company, I really needed to get home because I had something like 8 people arriving at my house for various reasons on Sunday.

Nevertheless, London Victoria was pandaemonium, trains didn't look any more certain to take me the whole way home, news was that the M4 was worsening by the minute and the thought of getting somewhere comfy and inside as soon as possible was seductive and the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea whilst all the while feeling like it was a bit like taking the easy way out.

On the journey up my ma had told me something her mother had said - along the lines of "the sooner you realise that God sends the weather, the happier you'll be".
She didn't mean that we had to believe in God - she meant that there are some things in your life over which you have no control and you might as well surrender to the idea and deal with it.

So I trekked across town to Kings Cross, bought a ticket and set forth for Hitchin. It took a little longer than usual because that service had started to suffer weather-related problems, but after about an hour, we were sitting in the Nightingale with a couple of pints for all the world like the journey was planned.

A few text messages and calls to make alternative arrangements for the people supposed to be arriving at my house on Sunday and then a call from my sister to tell me she and ma were stuck in London but were holing up in an hotel for the night.

The walk to S's house was in a winter wonderland of vigin snow and cold crispness. As the snow fell harder the stress of the day retreated because it felt like I'd made the right call and I was surrendering to weather I couldn't change. Even the thought that I might not be able to get home the next day didn't bother me particularly. If worse came to worst, I'd have to go shopping for one or two things but it wouldn't be the end of the world.

The light of day on Sunday revealed that no further snow had fallen, both road and rail conditions had improved a bit.
Then the agonising started again. We both had things to do, places to go and yet it would have been nice just to have gone for a walk in the snow and then to the pub for lunch and not worry about anything else.

Ultimately, we planned our respective journeys for the day and S dropped me at the station. My journey back home was relatively painless, albeit it a bit crowded and a bit longer than usual.

I'm home now and S is safely at his planned destination. All's right with the world.

I guess my Grandmother's wisdom has merit - as did much of what she said, so I'm led to believe.

So - I'm going to try and go with the flow and accept the odd fucking up of my plans and know that it can sometimes lead to a pleasant evening passed with a friend, some beer and "Life of Brian". (thanks, again, S)

...and maybe the wisdom I can pass to my nephews and nieces is "always carry spare underwear - you just never know..."



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Under Pressure

Every time I think I've just about got things under control, they seem to slip away from me.

Remember the incident with the failed tap washer? No? Oh, well, read about it here if you like.

I've had a few more recently...

My vacuum cleaner stopped picking up as well as it should and was making an odd whining noise. Some fiddling to dismantle the brush head and unclog it was necessary. I was pretty pleased that I'd done it but didn't really think any more about it.

Then a load of light bulbs failed - well, I say a load...four, actually, but they were odd bulbs in awkward places. When I was looking in the cupboard under the stairs for something else I discovered that I didn't need to source new bulbs, there was a handy supply there already for me (thanks, Idiot Boy - I'll stop mocking your hoarding instincts now...though what's with the thirteen boxes of matches, eh?). It then just took me to get my shit together sufficiently to get the stepladder out and then to accept the fact that all eight shades on the light fitting in the lounge would need to be cleaned in soapy water.

Then I had a problem with the oven. After being on for about 10 minutes it tripped the RCD and turned a couple of ring mains off. First time I put down to gremlins, second time I realised something needed to be done.

Twitter is a wonderful thing and after bleating about it I had helpful suggestions from two friends (Dru and TT) both of whom suggested elements were at fault.
TT went on to suggest sharing the delivery cost on replacements for me and some stuff for him.
Then Dru mailed me to say if I needed help to let her know...although her default assumption was that I was both confident and competent to do the job myself (actually, I don't believe I was either of these things).

I whined to my friend S, too. He, like the others, was pretty certain an element was at fault.
It took a while to identify the right model of cooker and therefore the correct elements but I ordered them and they duly arrived.
There are no instructions anywhere that tell you how to replace them. Maybe it's obvious, maybe I'm just dumb, or maybe there's an expectation that you'll always get a "professional" in to do the job.

Thing is, my dad always had a go at fixing things himself, so did Idiot Boy (in fact he replaced elements in this cooker about four times) and so does my brother.
So I did the obvious thing and took the back off the cooker. It became obvious that I'd need to do something inside the cooker too...but it took me a while to work out what.

However, I got there eventually.

Then the bad news...the element design had changed. The spares website had warned me of this and had detailed the adaptations necessary. What became clear, however, was that my cooker was older tham the model to which they referred and the adaptations needed wouldn't work.
I was left with earth connectors that I couldn't connect.
I agonized for a while, stamped my feet a little, too and then had a think.
Then I jury-rigged something that I hoped would be good enough.

Problem for me with earth is that I only half understand it and what it's there to do and they do say a little learning is a dangerous thing.
Both elements replaced, complete with makeshift earth connections I turned the oven on. It worked. I was amazed. Better yet, when I touched the outside of the cooker I didn't die.
When S arrived to stay for the weekend, I asked his advice over the earth wires and his opionion was that what I'd done was good enough. Phew.

So - all fixed, then?

Yes...and no.

My house was freezing at the weekend and S was on the verge of hypothermia a couple of times so he offered to bleed my radiators (I sort of knew they needed doing - CJ had suggested a while back that the cold radiator in my bathroom was probably to do with air). Sadly I had neither the correct tool (radiator valve key) nor a substitute (long-nosed pliers). At least I was pretty certain I did have both things but could lay my hands on neither.

S tried some improvisation with the tools to hand but to no avail. I suggested that I'd get a heating engineer to service the boiler and take a look at the radiators. S said I was perfectly capable of doing it myself - he's clearly got more faith in my than I have. He explained what I needed to do.
I went and bought radiator keys and a pair of long-nosed pliers and came home to find I did, indeed have both already, but hey...

I bled a couple of radiators and was gratified to find it was easy and the results were immediate. The third one, however, wasn't so easy...it became apparent that the water pressure had dropped in the system and I'd have to let more water into it. Problem is, I had no idea how.

I let TD know that I'll be absent from my desk for a while longer and he, as ever, encourages me not to panic, gives me a bit of advice (if the system's warm then let the water in slowly) and then says RTFM or Google.

I pull out my tumble drier to let me get at the underside of the boiler and find that an unrelated pipe has a leak from a strange connection. Irritation and panic come at the same time but clearly this is the more pressing problem. First I make the problem worse, then I fix it...well sort of.

I exchange texts with S who alternates between advice and concern.

It's not clear how to let water into the boiler and it takes an hour of surfing for documentation and reading and watching a video to finally understand what needs to be done. Once understood the process took only ten minutes.

OK, I'm pretty pleased with myself on the whole but the nagging feeling that I'm more comfortable with a spanner, rather than a mascara brush in my hands returns to haunt me and I slink off to bed under a bit of a cloud.

Today I'm feeling a bit more defiant. I'm irritated that I'm letting myself feel pressure for being a bit sub-girlie. Then I realise that several of my perfectly capable male friends wouldn't have been any more confident than me to do these jobs. Also, there's a nagging annoyance that clear instructions for simple maintenance jobs should be more easily come by.
Then I re-read the blog post I mention above and see the comments - it makes me smile and gives me heart.

I'm not out of the woods on this whole saga, of that I'm sure but if I concentrate on how bloody useful it is to be able to fix my own stuff (with help, and encouragement of course) perhaps I'll stop getting cold sweats when faced with M&S adverts for perfect women in slinky dresses.

Maybe...


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