The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain.
Karl Marx. You might well have guessed that. Anybody who can come up with the idea of a dictatorship of the proletariat whilst living it up in Berlin, Paris and London has clearly never sat in a freezing cold (or boiling hot) shed hitting a bit of metal with a large hammer – although the old Soviet flag does sort of suggest differently.
I’ve been doing the pain game again. Some of it is fair enough. In an attempt to tidy up the Little Project shed and make it more of a shed with Little Project in it – there is a big difference – I slammed my fingers in a cupboard door. If you have ever been in a similar situation then you will no doubt remember gazing at your fingers with horrified glee for several days as the creeping blackness edges up your nails. I am waiting with trepidation to see what happens when it gets to the top of the nail.
I thought I’d unscrew some things off engines instead. A more satisfying proposition than tidying up. Because of the numbness stretching across three fingers I couldn’t really hold the screwdriver straight so whilst trying to stabilise it I stabbed myself in the hand.
The smoke alarm was dangling from its perch on a cross member of the roof (it’s not a cross member in the sense that brings to mind an angry willy, it is a bit that holds the roof on). I drilled a hole in it and because I was bleeding in one hand and couldn’t hold the drill properly with the other I tried to use my chest to put some weight on the drill. This caused me to get too close to the drill bit that kindly fired a splinter of wood into my cheek.
I don’t really understand why I have a smoke alarm in the shed. It’s not like there’s anything in there that is going to be capable of combustion any time soon.
But most confusing. Most confusing of all, I did this.
Now for all the world I don’t have a clue how I did this. I suspect that it may involve tiny little aliens on their first visit to planet Earth practicing making crop circles and getting it wrong. Or it may be some sort of stigmata based advertising caused by a fiendishly clever Chinese herbal remedy (to be fair, there aren’t many Chinese herbal remedy-type products pass through the door, so this is unlikely). I just don’t know how one can get such damage on the palm of one’s hand.
I have located a new, correct, complete gasket set. It had been delivered and is now sitting under Seat where it is nice and flat. I can look forward to a weekend and an extra day (see below) to bodge things about and try and work out where the other two cables coming from the engine should go to.
Although Monday is a public holiday, it seems that there is nothing for it to celebrate at all other than it being the last Monday in August. I propose that we rename it Little Project day. Further, it should be an international public holiday that applies to every country that has visited my blog. I believe I mentioned before that there have not been any visits from Antarctica or the ISS. You guys will have to work on the last Monday in August whilst the rest of us are having a party that involves bloody knuckles, oil, swarf and copious amounts of 40% proof spirits – A bit like a Friday night in Wexford.
I am inordinately pleased that you can still find time to visit the story of Little Project. If you have nothing better to do with your time, let me know how you found me. It will probably make a good post (unless you say “you’re my brother, thicko”).