My car has been jacked up since Tuesday morning, with a simple exhaust reconnection waiting until I could get at it with the car supported on something a bit more reliable than its own jack balanced on a bit of flagstone and an old brick. I used to have two pairs of axle stands but they have vanished. Nothing but an axle stand would do though, owing to the small space in the wheel arch it had to be fed through. Oak logs were out. So today I went and got some. The factor only had 2.5 ton jobs for lorries and such, 44 quid, nearly had a heart attack then and there.
The actual job took about 15 minutes and the car seems all right, tailpipe in more or less the right place, nothing dragging along the ground, no untoward knocks from the twisty bits woven through the back suspension, Bob's your uncle. Uncorroded pipes went back together like Lego. But did I get the clamp crooked or not quite over the cuts in the outer pipe? Oo-er. The job was a total doddle, but the thing at my age is getting down and wriggling under there, something one did rapidly and without effort in years gone by. Almost everyone I know of my age says they hate crouching, bending or stooping because it makes them feel faint. I am no different.
But three days of faffing over a ten-minute job? Do me a favour. Raaasclaat!
The upside is that owing to the kind and trusting nature of people here I have done a few miles in a sweet little Citroen Saxo, refined engine, brisk and very simple, and a much newer Kia Rio diesel, which has a narrow torque band but drives roughly below it and isn't silent above it, although the owners say it's fine at motorway speeds. I didn't like the low driver's seat even after I had lowered the steering wheel from its ridiculous praying-mantis highest position. Had to move the seat back three notches too but left the seatback upright out of respect for the owner's back problems. Nice to have the jalopy back. But I owe many drinks... which is nice.
|
