Now, some of you may recognise that as the title of a track by Genesis, taken from the post-Gabriel era album A Trick of the Tail. Not one of their better songs, but the album happens to be the first album I ever bought, so I hold it in some esteem. Anyway, fear not. This isn’t heading towards some ramblings about the brilliance of prog rock, although maybe that’s something for me to consider at a later date (don’t say you haven’t been warned). No, this is about Tuesday 2nd January 2024.
The day began like any other, pretty much. My body took several minutes to come to life; my brain took several more; my heart just wasn’t in it. Still, it was the second day of the new year, and I suddenly felt compelled to get off my arse and make the most of it. Since I’d spent the previous afternoon in the garage, tinkering and fettling – bikes need attention, and I don’t neglect my bikes – I knew I should get to tidying up the garage . Bikes needed re-hanging on the walls and tools needed replacing in the toolbox; bits of old cables and cable housings needed binning, along with strips of old insulating tape following some handlebar tape re-wrapping. Plan formed in my brain, confirming that, once I’d finished, I could get out for a spin on one of said bikes. One of these, waiting to be put away:
Here’s where it began to take a turn; a sinister turn, if you will. Well, not that sinister at all, actually. Just a turn to upset my plans. How? The bloody car wouldn’t start. You see, to allow me the space and freedom to sort out the garage, that garage needed to be devoid of precisely one car. Dead battery said “No!” I said, “Oh, crap!”
Here, I should interject with an admission. I think I have only myself to blame. Some weeks ago, I opened the bonnet and spotted this:
Was that corrosion? Certainly a deposit of something not good for a battery? Dr Goooooogle soon advised me that it could be an indicator of imminent failure. I soon advised Dr Gooooooogle that a quick clean up and a liberal application of Vaseline would cure this disease. At best, I delayed it for about a month. Guilty as charged, m’lud.
Solution? Slap on the charger to (hopefully) give it enough oomph to get the motor started, phone Mrs T, arrange for replacement battery, dust off the credit card. That’ll do it. Except, during that the process of reconnecting the ailing battery to check that it was sufficiently powerful to start the old flat-four, I managed to drop the 10mm socket into the engine bay. I heard it land on what sounded like plastic. No problem, there’s a plastic splash tray under the engine bay, so I’ll find the socket in no time. Ha! 15 minutes later and the bastard socket was nowhere to be seen. I had 20 minutes to get the car to the garage to have the battery fitted, so off I set, convinced that young Master 10mm would either fall out, never to be seen again, or lodge himself somewhere nasty, either to rattle the sanity from my very being, or to henceforth break some pump or pulley or switch or thingummy. I told you, my glass is always half empty.
Fast-forward an hour or so. Can’t stop fretting about that socket, so I take the car into the adjacent car park where I can lift the front end, thanks to some handily placed kerbstones, and thereby have better access to the splash tray. I had to remove it, to satisfy myself that that shiny lump of metal was no longer hiding; hiding and waiting to wreak some kind of psychotic revenge. No problem. The tray is held on with eleven plastic clips, which are easily prised out with a flat-head screwdriver, and four bolts. Erm, yes problem. They are bolts, two of which are recessed so I will need a socket. A 10mm socket. Actually, no. A 12mm socket, but guess what…
Yup, my basic set has an 11 and a 13, but…
FFS!
Thankfully, being a relatively resourceful kinda guy (ha!), I managed to cobble together the means to undo the bolts by careful application of, not one, but two adjustable spanners. Thus, tray removed. No socket lodged on the tray. All ledges and whatnot near the battery checked as best I could, either with fingers or bad eyes or phone camera. Nowt. Fair enough. It was probably being abused on the asphalt, somewhere between home and the car dealer.
Of course it bloody wasn’t. Just as I knelt to begin replacing the splash tray, a glint of sunshine reflecting off something shiny caught my eye. The bastard, bastard socket was just there, tucked in behind part of the front bumper trim, and I managed to remove it within seconds by simply pulling the (plastic) bumper slightly to one side. F.F.S!
So there you have it.
Robbery – NT$5,600 from my credit card.
Assault – my sanity took a beating.
Battery.
Oh, and I stand by what I’ve been saying for years. Batteries will always let you down. Phone, laptop, Garmin, watch, singing Christmas hat, you name it. It happened in my Mondeo on New Years day back in the UK when Mrs T was 8 months pregnant. Sudden failure; no warning. I’m sorry, but I won’t be buying an electric car any time soon. So there.
The Sixty Second 