Organised to take my father’s Bomb M W in for a diagnosis. E46. Ancient vehicle. I refer to it as the Teutonic Lump as it certainly is no Honda Jazz. The automatic transmission, all of which I hate to greater or lesser degrees, randomly pops into Panic Mode ™️ and only engages 4th.
This it did on the 3 minute drive to the mechanics.
I discovered today that restarting the car temporarily fixes the problem. Just as father and I had deduced, after I had trained him to engage in trouble shooting without his habitual defensive parenting reactions, of course, my 6-fingered mechanic confirmed that it was indeed the defective radiator output sensor.
As a standard joke, said mechanic puts the two stubs of his fingers against his nostrils making it seem as though his fingers are buried deep within his sinuses. It’s probably a British thing. At this point the South African receptionist distastefully notes,
‘They’ve probably been up your bum.’
To which I whisper loudly,
‘That’s how he lost them.’
I had sauntered next door, waiting for the mechanic to avail himself of the Teutonic Lump, to coffee. The wife makes the drinks while the muscular, bearded and vastly tattooed husband runs the gym. Quite sweaty. Men are even better when wet.
The mower man arrived during my absence and felled the jungle. We now have the bedraggled approximation of a lawn. No longer in fear of tigers leaping out at me.
Lunched with mother at Trattoria in Pado. Only molested by one fly as we devoured our scrumptious meals, engaging in light banter. Having quickly transitioned from 72 to 73, mother likewise leapt from pistachio to Portuguese yellow as her favourite colour. The hue delightfully engages with her Scottish deep red hair and terracotta dress. With matching foot wear, of course.
Quite shabbily I did present!
Thence home for a nap. Interrupted by delivery messages and requests for assistance and negotiations.
⁃ collected a flatmate’s package
⁃ popped down to the chemist to collect mine
⁃ rescued the delivery driver from the wrong address
Near death videos provide an awfully small variety of scenarios. They mostly include high-speed motorbikes, tangled parachutes, either a bear or crocodile, or water. But I think the worst is being buried in an avalanche. Those ones make me laugh in horror.
Read a short story by DSFB about taking revenge on Santa. I felt decidedly tame comparing my story Delta Key. Could not stop laughing. No matter how much I shower or bathe, my mind stays just as sullied.
A flatmate called out my name from the corridor and I spied a red wrapper in her hand.
‘Does that have my name on it?’, I enquired.
Her face grew shock like a bursting jellyfish.
She laughed when she realised I knew which chocolate she’d bought for me as a thank-you.
It only took 15 tries to put the skin on the back of the iPad. The key motivational force, the only force, I could muster to get myself to do it right was,
‘I’m going to be SO annoyed if I don’t get this right!’
The delivery fellow blocked traffic several times reversing his huge truck out of number 48, coming back down around the roundabout and thence into 46. Didn’t have his reading glasses I expect. From out if this enormous truck he emerged to find me in my undies waiting for him.
From this huge thing he plonked my package on the ground and toddled back to the cab. This aircon I already sold to another flatmate – I live with 7 people – and thusly roused him from sleep. Being thrice my size of black muscle and not with an arm freshly removed of screws and plate, I figured he could carry it inside.
I certainly enjoyed tormenting him.
Ghana does not have a history of equal rights nor does Christianity but, over the past 15 months, this fellow has understood I deserve his respect. Setting up the unit being way beyond his skills, he commented about the instruction manual,
‘Oh, something to read.’
‘You can read???’
Rankling indignation is truely priceless.
He said something about a PhD but I won’t have any of that.