FullCircle
Well-known member
Most foolishly, T_S and I went to Second Chance on the Crouch today to try and get my recalcitrant engine to run, and then consider going sailing....
He pitched up at the boat, sat in the aft end of the cockpit peered into the black hole where the recalcitrant lump is, and made some unintelligible technical sounding incantations.
Expecting a sweat ridden hour or so, I removed my oilie jacket, removed the bung from the exhaust manifold (which points skyward) to clear water away from the exhaust port/valves, set the choke, wee bit of throttle (which was done a hundred times before).
Expecting chuff all as a result, save for a relief of petroil laden water through the removed bung, I gently tugged on the starter string. Not the manly full pulls that threaten to rip the cord from its mountings, but a gentle freeing of the motor to turn it over.
With a mighty Whoosh and a roar, the bloody engine started, and spewed a 4ft high filthy mix of fuel and water up though the deck hatch and covered everything within a cockpit sized radius, including one Mr T_S and a jimdew.
Stood aghast for a spilt second, shocked that the lump should come alive so effusively and instantaneously, I spluttered to Mr T_S to reach down and hit the STOP button on the panel (ludicrously closer to the spraying action than before!) Choice of 3 buttons to push, he got it in 2.
One unholy mess in the cockpit, the area reeks of petrol, and me and T_S look like prospectors from the 19th century oil rush.
So the question is, how did he do it? Does he realise he has awesome powers? Palpably not, or he would have stood back in amusement at my mortal expressions rather than smell like a petrol pump. I therefore drew the reluctant conclusion that we may have a visionary on board.
Then he turned his steady gaze to the heavens and pronunces that a low cumulo nimbic strato pattern was low, and we should be getting a bit of snow, about .........NOW. Bugger me if the snow didnt arrive instantly to back up his Michael Fishery. Also having sniffed the weather a bit, he sagely agreed that now would be a good time to repair to the pub, and to leave the sailing for another day. I concurred this, as I would have had to run under bare poles down river.
His Dalai Lama like day was further enhanced as he kept pacing the length of the boat muttering it seemed bigger than 22 ft. So we know now then that he is spatially challenged, which adds to the mystique, I think you will all agree.
The pub proved an agreeable rest after the mornings efforts, and we can report that the White Harts' Crouch Vale Bitter remains in very good condition, what there is left of it.
Thanks Dave, I enjoyed it.
Jim
He pitched up at the boat, sat in the aft end of the cockpit peered into the black hole where the recalcitrant lump is, and made some unintelligible technical sounding incantations.
Expecting a sweat ridden hour or so, I removed my oilie jacket, removed the bung from the exhaust manifold (which points skyward) to clear water away from the exhaust port/valves, set the choke, wee bit of throttle (which was done a hundred times before).
Expecting chuff all as a result, save for a relief of petroil laden water through the removed bung, I gently tugged on the starter string. Not the manly full pulls that threaten to rip the cord from its mountings, but a gentle freeing of the motor to turn it over.
With a mighty Whoosh and a roar, the bloody engine started, and spewed a 4ft high filthy mix of fuel and water up though the deck hatch and covered everything within a cockpit sized radius, including one Mr T_S and a jimdew.
Stood aghast for a spilt second, shocked that the lump should come alive so effusively and instantaneously, I spluttered to Mr T_S to reach down and hit the STOP button on the panel (ludicrously closer to the spraying action than before!) Choice of 3 buttons to push, he got it in 2.
One unholy mess in the cockpit, the area reeks of petrol, and me and T_S look like prospectors from the 19th century oil rush.
So the question is, how did he do it? Does he realise he has awesome powers? Palpably not, or he would have stood back in amusement at my mortal expressions rather than smell like a petrol pump. I therefore drew the reluctant conclusion that we may have a visionary on board.
Then he turned his steady gaze to the heavens and pronunces that a low cumulo nimbic strato pattern was low, and we should be getting a bit of snow, about .........NOW. Bugger me if the snow didnt arrive instantly to back up his Michael Fishery. Also having sniffed the weather a bit, he sagely agreed that now would be a good time to repair to the pub, and to leave the sailing for another day. I concurred this, as I would have had to run under bare poles down river.
His Dalai Lama like day was further enhanced as he kept pacing the length of the boat muttering it seemed bigger than 22 ft. So we know now then that he is spatially challenged, which adds to the mystique, I think you will all agree.
The pub proved an agreeable rest after the mornings efforts, and we can report that the White Harts' Crouch Vale Bitter remains in very good condition, what there is left of it.
Thanks Dave, I enjoyed it.
Jim