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A weeny socket-set for spannering things that are far away, or quite small. A tenner from the shop of American cheapness.
The opposite of bicycle repair man
Feb. 13th, 2014 11:27 pm(Because that name does assume a minor amount of mechanical nouse)
Before the country started enacting its own Ballardian psychodrama - we do appear to be working our way collectively through his novels, and Shepperton has a splash-on part in the current Thames Television opportunity. I'm looking forward to Hello America, and plan to be hiding when it's time for the Atrocity Exhibition - the Nice Bike was emitting a creaking noise from one or other of the cranks. Of late it's been quiet and I put that down to a mildly more attentive maintenance regimen because otherwise the chain rusts up sharpish what with all this weather we've been never having it so good as before it were all watermeadows round here when I were a lass, etc.
Today the left-hand crank fell off. Which was something of a surprise. Thankfully I was able to collect all the bits, stuff them in various pockets and trudge off while pretending not to notice the set of people at the bus stop.
Unfortunately Halfords.
Hey ho.
Before the country started enacting its own Ballardian psychodrama - we do appear to be working our way collectively through his novels, and Shepperton has a splash-on part in the current Thames Television opportunity. I'm looking forward to Hello America, and plan to be hiding when it's time for the Atrocity Exhibition - the Nice Bike was emitting a creaking noise from one or other of the cranks. Of late it's been quiet and I put that down to a mildly more attentive maintenance regimen because otherwise the chain rusts up sharpish what with all this weather we've been never having it so good as before it were all watermeadows round here when I were a lass, etc.
Today the left-hand crank fell off. Which was something of a surprise. Thankfully I was able to collect all the bits, stuff them in various pockets and trudge off while pretending not to notice the set of people at the bus stop.
Unfortunately Halfords.
Hey ho.
Because I was left alone as a teenager/twentysomething and allowed to get on with being a scruffy peelist hacker, I never came across the notion of the 'walk of shame'.
Understanding what that thing was and what it meant culturally would have likely involved me not being a bloke, knowing that dressing up to go out was a thing (I mean, I knew it was a thing because of mass media, but since that same mass media didn't know the likes of me existed, it really didn't apply. Further, the sorts of places in Cheltenham where people who 'dressed up to go out', er, went out, weren't the sort of places that appealed anyway. It was all something like a full-spectrum Groucho Marx ruleset) and having the wit to know that trolling home in yesterday's clobber was viewed as an awful thing by/for one half of the relevant population.
Although there was this time coming home from a squat in Leytonstone during AM rush-hour with a headful of ceremonial chemicals..
Less walk of shame and much more 'I am curled up in a para smock in a corner seat and I am looking at you power-dressed city types with the same blank incomprehension you are affording me. However, I appear to be going home because I accidentally the sort of work (briefly) that doesn't involve office rubbish. Apart from you with the dark hair. You're lovely.'
However.
Since I have chugged round in a procession of old cars, the notion of the 'slick of shame' is far too familiar. The most terrible example was the hateful Hillman Avenger with the dead-loss oil system. Eventually, the council came round to complain about the damage to the road surface. We had to drag the dead Allegro (not mine) from its final resting place round the back of the house so there was somewhere for the Avenger to dribble in peace.
Currently the 9000 has a minor but persistent coolant leak. I think I've found it, finally, but it has not rained for a week and when our street is clear you can see where I've parked over the last several days...
Understanding what that thing was and what it meant culturally would have likely involved me not being a bloke, knowing that dressing up to go out was a thing (I mean, I knew it was a thing because of mass media, but since that same mass media didn't know the likes of me existed, it really didn't apply. Further, the sorts of places in Cheltenham where people who 'dressed up to go out', er, went out, weren't the sort of places that appealed anyway. It was all something like a full-spectrum Groucho Marx ruleset) and having the wit to know that trolling home in yesterday's clobber was viewed as an awful thing by/for one half of the relevant population.
Although there was this time coming home from a squat in Leytonstone during AM rush-hour with a headful of ceremonial chemicals..
Less walk of shame and much more 'I am curled up in a para smock in a corner seat and I am looking at you power-dressed city types with the same blank incomprehension you are affording me. However, I appear to be going home because I accidentally the sort of work (briefly) that doesn't involve office rubbish. Apart from you with the dark hair. You're lovely.'
However.
Since I have chugged round in a procession of old cars, the notion of the 'slick of shame' is far too familiar. The most terrible example was the hateful Hillman Avenger with the dead-loss oil system. Eventually, the council came round to complain about the damage to the road surface. We had to drag the dead Allegro (not mine) from its final resting place round the back of the house so there was somewhere for the Avenger to dribble in peace.
Currently the 9000 has a minor but persistent coolant leak. I think I've found it, finally, but it has not rained for a week and when our street is clear you can see where I've parked over the last several days...
Clarkson & chums (tee hee gypsies) ? Amateurs.
The only thing wrong with this car is the lack of a roof, but some wavy tin and plasming would fix that.
(It's from a film stuffed with good bits, which are unfortunately separated by some less-good bits. Although I should likely watch it again, just to be sure. There is also Dennis Hopper not exactly stretching himself.)
(It's also a film that's oddly short internet presence - I mean, you'd think the spanner-fondling webforums would be jammed with similar kit, but No Can Has it seems.)
(Although. See previous post.)
The only thing wrong with this car is the lack of a roof, but some wavy tin and plasming would fix that.
(It's from a film stuffed with good bits, which are unfortunately separated by some less-good bits. Although I should likely watch it again, just to be sure. There is also Dennis Hopper not exactly stretching himself.)
(It's also a film that's oddly short internet presence - I mean, you'd think the spanner-fondling webforums would be jammed with similar kit, but No Can Has it seems.)
(Although. See previous post.)
Talk about your wagon/paint the weather
May. 10th, 2006 02:53 pmLord, but it's nice out.
I'm getting on because the months are steaming past at a frankly disturbing rate of knots.
Perhaps I should take a tent and go fester somewhere quietly, or cycle about Bristol in an exploratory manner.
(Or indeed go back and find this six months hence and realise I did bog-all again. Best not perform that action.)
I'm getting on because the months are steaming past at a frankly disturbing rate of knots.
Perhaps I should take a tent and go fester somewhere quietly, or cycle about Bristol in an exploratory manner.
(Or indeed go back and find this six months hence and realise I did bog-all again. Best not perform that action.)
