So, up with the - erm - what gets up late? Up with the teenager sounds a bit - Savillesque. Anyway, up later-than-usual-but-still-quite-early, I'd intended taking the Fury out to swill the coolant round the pipes a bit & persuade any trapped air to vacate the premises. Then Mrs Blatter pointed out that she was dining in with friends in the evening & as she would be working all day, could I tidy the house? My heart sank.
My household consists of myself & three females (two of which are daughters I should point out), so every flat surface is festooned with bits of paper with four seemingly random words written on, handbags - how can there be more than three at any time? Or discarded food wrappers. Abandoned pop-socks are another favourite - a nasty bu99er is Johnny Popsock, I've come to the conclusion that in the wild their natural habitat is a draughty tunnel, because they lie in wait under a sofa, only to make a dash & leap into the mouth of the hoover nozzle as it passes.
My shoes are in the wardrobe or on my feet. Going by the sheer number of other shoes about the place, there are at least fourteen women living here. Presumably they bed down among the piles of coats strewn about the place. Medicines are another bugbear. When the kiddies were small, any medicines were located well out of reach. Now you can't move in the utility room for small cardboard packets lying on the worktop, the floor, by the microwave, anywhere in fact you can put down a glass of water long enough to open the box, then retrieving the water, wander off.
Anyway, I diligently set to, hoovering & tidying up as best I could considering that none of the stuff that needed putting away was mine & therefore I'd not learnt the owner, the "right place" or in extreme cases, the name of the offending feminine accoutrement. That finished to my own satisfaction (i.e. not actually finished) I headed out to the garage & pushed the Fury out, intending to make my way to the office via the Pirbright ring. I had not gone more than a mile when the rain started. Great lumps of cold water were making their way for me with singularly vindictive precision, so I gave that up as a bad job & made my way home.
I put the car back in the garage, checked & topped up the water (no leaks - Hurrah!), then looked at the main fuel line. When the high pressure pump moved to the back of the car, I'd attempted to make the end of the fuel hard line into a nice sweeping curve, but it buckled. Obviously the fuel flow was sufficient, but it looked a mess, so I cut it off short, flared the end & fitted a nice hose section taking a more direct route. That meant the return line was no-longer supported, so I added a p-clip or two, then as a finale, removed the filter on the cam cover & replaced that with some hose into the catch tank. So a decent bit of tidying & some minor improvements. But not the day I'd had in mind.