It is sometimes easy to forget about the little things in life. One becomes caught up with all the BIG THINGS and the little details become lost in the process of living and having fun.
For the past week Little India (see 'The Buying Of Little India' for details) has not been a happy car. As I have raced to the beach each afternoon, she has tried to communicate her distress to me in little ways. The smoke emitting periodically from the exhaust, the failure to start first time, especially when ones foot has depressed the clutch, the low racing car rumble as she tore up the roads, were lost on me as I topped up the tan and read my book, amid the sun drenched dunes at Aberdyfi.Last night as she failed to start once more, spluttering to life with a few ominous groans from the engine, I sent an e-mail to my trusted friend Bob.
“Dear Bob
If my car is making a 'deep' sound, ie a deep rumble, like a sports car rather than its usual sound, what could be wrong?? It seems to be coming from the black box like thing, that is on the right of the sliver piston holding thing, if that's any help! I have checked the exhaust and it is looks OK, but that is the sort of noise it is making!! except not from the exhaust!
It also 'splutters' to a start, if you start it with the clutch in, but starts OK if you keep your foot off, bit of black smoke too when its spluttering has finished, just for good measure! It also seems to be going through more petrol than usual, although that could be my driving lol
Apart from that it is fine!!!!
Suggestions Oh Tigra God???? (simple to understand explanations please) xxx”
I pressed 'send' and went to bed.
This morning, it was raining. This came as not a great surprise, as last night, as I had listened to the strange noises emitting from Little India's innards, I had decided to wash her. Her metallic, marine green, exterior had shone in the glowing evening light. Bugs and sand had been swept clean from her magnificent body. She may not have been well but she sure looked good! The rain abated slightly as Cian and I got in to begin our journey to school, the engine started first time to my pleasant surprise. A small plume of dark smoke squeezed itself from her bowels, as we turned the first corner, but the wheels were turning, the car was moving forward and I was happy.
10 miles up the road, I noticed the temperature gauge reach 95. A further 2 miles and it was on 100! I slowed a touch, listening to the rumble of the fan that couldn't be heard. We had 3 miles to get to the school. There seemed no point stopping now so I continued, my eyes watching the temperature as it dropped to 95 and rose to 100 again.
Once at school I allowed her to calm down. The bonnet creaked and tinkled with cooling contractions as I walked to the kitchen. The morning passed peacefully enough. I checked my e-mails but had received no answer from the Tigra God, I called Peter to enquire about the over heating of the morning.
“Check the water before you come home” he suggested.
In the year and a half since I have owned Little India, I have never had to put water or oil into her slight body. The occasional check of the dip stick, the tender rattle of the water container have always proved to be enough for the girl. Last weekend, however, just before I departed for a weekend of sailing with my daughter Lisa, Peter had offered to check both the water and the oil. I did not watch, I did not supervise, as he laid his hands on my Baby. I simple trusted he knew how to treat a creature of such delicate beauty and left it at that.
I emerged from my kitchen lunchtime into brilliant sunshine. I cautiously raised the bonnet of my little Baby. I looked in horror at the empty water container and rushed to fill it up with fresh Welsh water poured gently from the children's water jugs. I checked the oil. Not a smidgeon could be spotted on the dip stick!! My poor, poor baby! She had been trying to tell me, trying to explain, but I hadn't been listening.
With a loving “It will be OK Baby”, we drove slowly (Well under 70) to the garage. There, in the shade of the canopy, I filled her with petrol. I bought the best engine oil available and poured it delicately into her smoking orifice. Gently I lowered the bonnet and came home.
Not a murmur, not a splutter, not a trace of smoke left her body, as she glided around the bends. She is now parked in the gleaming sun. My Baby. Happy once again.
The morel of this tale … Never let a man fiddle with things, that you have always fiddles with yourself, to the complete satisfaction of all involved!!
THE END
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