ARM Club 1/ARM_CLUB_CD.iso/contents/sillies/silly8/D/DIYMan

Text File | 1994-02-18 | 7KB | 107 lines

                **A WOMANS VIEW OF A D.I.Y. MAN**

"Its no good" says he, "It'll fail miserably on the steering, the gearbox
and possibly the clutch". M.O.T. time comes round, that gruesome time when
perspiration turns to sweat and decency is replaced by violence.

"Fine" she replies, "Do what you have to, I'll put in some overtime at work to
meet the bills". Two weeks and four hundred pounds later, he toddles proudly
down to the test centre with one gleaming Talbot Rancho. Eight hours later he
returns, oiled even better than the car was, a worried friend was driving and
apologising like mad for him. It had failed. Miserably. They simply lifted the
rear carpets and found two holes in the floor, each the size of his head (or
the size of my bottom if you listen to him). The quote for the welding was
three hundred pounds - the value of the car was two hundred and fifty.

Mike has long since been fascinated by D.I.Y. I remember the time when he
fancied making the room larger. He attacked the wall with a Disc Cutter and
a Kango Hammer. It took him three days of solid graft, 7 new blades, 8 drill
bits, the sanity of our neighbours, two pairs of glasses AND the punishment of
a week on the settee. We left the house in fear of our lives four months
later. The one inch wide crack went right up the centre of the house - but, as
he informs me, the house is still standing six years after we sold it - so he
must have done a good job. Credit where its due, he did a good job with the
Polyfilla hiding the damage. The fact that the buyers stayed in it for only
six months and that its been on the market ever since doesn't seem to deter
him from his great feeling of satisfaction.

I remember him fixing my dripping tap. He removed the whole tap by belting it
with a sledge hammer, got a new washer, then belted it back into place. A few
months later we had to make a huge insurance claim on the damage. He had.....
sorry......the hot water pipe had become damaged, it steamed all my solid oak
kitchen units, rotted the floorboards and cooked four mice.

Then there was the time when our cable T.V. became scrambled. He got it in his
head that all he had to do was something with the inverse video. No probs, it
just meant a wire hanging out of the set with a switch attached. BANG went the
tele, so he got us a replacement and set about that one, despite a constant
ear bashing from me. Ok, so it worked, but he had invalidated the guarantee so
I decided to have some fun. First I removed the fuse from the plug, then two
mins before he was due home, I burned some paper. I lashed into him saying "I
told you not to touch it, its gone up in smoke!". I went out smothering my
giggles and left him puzzling, only to find on my return that he had
dismantled the set and couldn't put it back together again. Needless to say,
the fuse is now the first thing he always checks.

I'll never forget him drilling a hole in the front room wall to get the BSB
cable in the house. The wasps think this is brilliant and they now have a very
large nest under our floorboards. I daren't tell him where the buzzing is
coming from else he may try and lift the boards....on second thoughts, I might
tell him before he sets about the t.v. again.

I distinctly remember him putting his foot on the paint tin lid whilst
painting the bedroom - then he walked downstairs to tell me.

We now have a C reg Escort, its only problem being that it blows distributors
regularly. When it ground to a halt last weekend, he forgave me for insisting
we call out a mobile mechanic as it couldn't possibly be the distributer again.
He must have been a good mechanic as he advertises in the paper every week.

Out comes Dave. Tall, clean, gleaming white smile, full of charm. He
loved the way I made coffee and he diagnosed the fault in seconds. Wasn't this
better than putting up with Hubby tampering? No washing up liquid bottle
smothered in hand prints, no filthy steering wheel, no black telephones and no
battered children. Dave leapt into life with all the gusto and style of the
Chippendales. He was a pleasure to watch as he leaned over into the engine.
"No problems!" he beamed. "I'll go down the scrappy, second hand carb - on the
road by tonight darlin'".  An hour and four coffees later and he informed me
that the problem was much worse due to the age of the car. He had fired her up
and she'd gone bang - apparently. What she had to have (why are broken cars
always female?) was a replacement cylinder head, the valves and pistons were
all shot. Strange, thinks Mike, the timing and compression was perfect and the
timing belt hadn't snapped, but Dave WAS a mechanic after all. He wiggled away
in the way that only Dave could, †80 more in his hand and the promise that
he'd return tomorrow. Tomorrow came - no Adonis. I phoned, he apologised. Next
day - no Dave. One week later Mike phoned him and told him to forget it - he'd
do it himself. I cringed - but he was pleased that he had proved that handsome
men have no brains. He went to the scrappy and spent hours stripping the head
off this written off car. Home he trots, cleans it up and finds a crack in it.
The air was blue - the scrappy was shut. He set about removing our head in
preparation for the exchanged one he'd get tomorrow. Guess what? Three hours
later and our head was found to be clean - undamaged and still raring to go
for another round the clock excursion. Ermm....he was very kind to me, after
all, a wrong diagnosis was something he could really relate to. Mike had
purchased oil stem valves, gaskets and all manner of other things to the value
of †90 in order to replace our head. Would it then start? Would it heck as
like! He cleaned up the carb that Dave had provided and discovered it to be in
much worse condition than ours - which was perfect. By this time I was hiding
in the kitchen busily removing hand prints from the walls, doors, telephone
and dog. Then inspiration struck my hubby, like a bolt from the blue it was.
The distributer! Lo and behold, there it was. Why didn't he think of that
before? A quick wiz down the shops for an exchange and he started a treat
(note the change of gender).

I really don't know what the moral of this story is - or whether I'll ever
let him attempt any other D.I.Y. jobs. One things for certain, you have to
love a D.I.Y. man - if you didn't - you'd kill him!

I'm sure that these disasters are minor compared to others experiences, can we
hear all your stories please? Adressed to DIY @ GBR and we can all share a
laugh!

73's Kay, G7KAY @ GB7BIL

               ****  LONG LIVE HUMOUR ON PACKET!!  ****
*** eof